


As They Kiss, Consume

by sherwoodfox



Series: Conscience and Consequence [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Arguing, Canon Compliant, Canon Expansion, Childhood Trauma, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Flirting, Heartbreak, Holocaust Survivor Erik Lehnsherr, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Love at First Sight, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possessive Behavior, Secret Relationship, Telepathy, X-Men: First Class (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 35,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherwoodfox/pseuds/sherwoodfox
Summary: “For a moment I thought lightning had struck me. I had never felt anything like this, this flood of orange heat that bloomed in my chest. It shocked me to my core. Some others came into the room where we were recovering, and Charles (his name was Charles!) turned to speak with them, but I could not look away. What power he had. What insane, unspeakable power. In an instant, he hadread my mind,and known everything about me. He had placed himself inside my head. What in the world could it be like inside his? This was something that could barely be imagined, and certainly not comprehended by the men and women of the world (myself included) whose minds were trapped within the contents of their own skulls. This man possessed the stuff of deities- a horrifying, godlike, obscene power.And he was so, so beautiful.And I, who had not thought myself capable of such folly, had fallen in love with him instantly.”
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: Conscience and Consequence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135844
Comments: 28
Kudos: 106





	1. 5:01/Love at First Sight

When I was a boy, I did not believe in love at first sight. To tell the truth, I did not much believe in romantic love at all- I did not see any reason for it, and certainly there were no examples I could attend to. I did not know my father; I did not know if he had ‘loved’ my mother. I did not know if she had loved him- our concerns had been greater than that. Of course, I remembered the fairytales. When I had been very little, my mother had read them to me before bed. _Children’s and Household Tales._ Even then, I do not believe I cared for them. I certainly did not ever take their contents to be true. There were no beautiful princesses and handsome princes in the cold streets of Germany- at least not for the Jews.

(I believed in the love a mother has for her child. I have always believed in that.)

Love at first sight? No, even when I was a man, when I escaped that place, the numbers permanent on my skin, the memories permanent in my mind-

-escaped _that place,_ but did not escape Shaw, for like Frankenstein’s monster he had _made me_ and I was bound to him until he died-

-I found no truth in this. Lust, attraction, these were different matters, ephemeral and meaningless and easily forgotten. Desires of the flesh paled in comparison to desires of the mind. 

(And of these I had only one: _revenge.)_

No, I did not live life like the hero of a story, falling in love with the pretty people on the street, or in my bed. How could there be such a thing as ‘love at first sight’- how could anyone be captured by something so momentary as the glimpse of a face, the glitter of a pair of eyes, the turn of a head? It was the worst kind of fiction, a fiction that had nothing to do with reality.

Or so I had reasoned to myself.

After all, what is stunning to me even now, is that I was wrong. 

(Though perhaps my love had not come at first sight, so much as first _touch.)_

I remember how it had happened very clearly. I had been so _close._ So damnably close- the thing my life had been formed around was right within my grasp, it lay ahead of me in a distance composed of mere moments, as opposed to weeks- month- years. Shaw. _Revenge!_ I saw him before me, no different than he had been when I was a child, just as smug and self-assured and patronizing. How I hated him. How ready was I for him to die. A climactic project, brought to an end at last.

After all, he had killed my mother.

_(“I will count to three...and you will move the coin.”)_

This haste- my _thirst_ for it- fogged my mind, and I underestimated them, his gaggle of associates. He slipped between my fingers, like so many grains of sand from the beaches I had never played at as a child, and the water closed over my head.

It was then that I fell in love at first sight.

In those moments, the entire world was alight. Time had no meaning, as there was no room left for its conception in my mind, a mind that was too full, reeling. I had seen Shaw- I had seen him for the first time in many, many years- I had nearly _had him-_ and there were others like me! Others on that boat! I was not alone- had they been tortured by him as I was, had he _made_ them too?- he was getting away, and the water was so cold my bones ached but I barely noticed, and I couldn’t breathe, and he was still getting away, and I had been so _close,_ and, and-

_-erikyouneedtoletGO-_

-and I felt something I had never felt before. A thought fluttered across the forefront of my mind, and despite its urgency it was as light and soft as a butterfly. I knew instantly that something impossible had occurred- that the thought _was not mine._

Arms wrapped around my chest. They were not strong arms. I could have fought him off, if I wanted to, this man whose chest I felt against my back, this man who was inexplicably in the water with me. But I did not do that, for I felt it again- his touch. Like a feather drifting through the tunnels of my memory, a place that I had not realized until just then was aching from all that had been sewn into it. 

_-iknowhowmuchthismeanstoyoubutyouregoingtodie-_

He was so gentle.

I let go.

(He told me I was not alone.)

On the American ship, afterwards, we were both placed into a little room with no windows, given hospital clothes to change into and thick, plastic-smelling blankets. Treatment for shock and hypothermia, which I did not really need. I was able to look at him. He looked...not innocent, perhaps, but rather _unblemished._ What startling blue eyes. What soft-looking red lips. How he shivered in his own blanket, like the exertion of what he had done was unusual for him. I realized fully then what had happened- a complete stranger had jumped into the ocean after me, to save me from drowning. He had not even seen my face, and yet he had thrown himself into the water for me. I almost couldn’t believe he was real.

“My name is Charles Xavier,” he said, holding out a hand for me to shake. I did. God, his palms were soft, too. An upper class English accent. I did not think for a moment that it was anything but his native tongue.

“Erik Lehnsherr,” I replied, and he smiled at me.

“I know,” he said lightly.

“You are…” I almost didn’t even have a word for it. Was there truly a word in any language for what he had done, what I had felt inside of me? “...a telepath.”

“Yes,” he replied, and still he was smiling. “I do not think there is a common name for your marvellous gift, Erik. It is uniquely yours alone.”

For a moment I thought lightning had struck me. I had never felt anything like this, this flood of orange heat that bloomed in my chest. It shocked me to my core. Some others came into the room where we were recovering, and Charles (his name was Charles!) turned to speak to them, but I could not look away. What power he had. What insane, unspeakable power. In an instant, he had _read my mind,_ and known everything about me. He had placed himself inside my head. What in the world could it be like inside his? This was something that could barely be imagined, and certainly not comprehended by the men and women of the world (myself included) whose minds were trapped within the contents of their own skulls. This man possessed the stuff of deities- a horrifying, godlike, obscene power. 

And he was so, so beautiful.

And I, who had not thought myself capable of such folly, had fallen in love with him instantly.


	2. 6:12/My Prize, my Birthright

We were taken in by the CIA. Though of course, Charles had already been with the CIA. We talked on the plane ride from the harbour where I had so nearly taken my revenge: as it turned out, Mr. Xavier was actually _Dr._ Xavier, and he was an expert in genetics, and he told me all about his theory on mutations. He gave it to me almost frantically, the words coming out in an elated rush, and he barely even glanced at the other people on the plane. I was the same, how could I not be? What he told me was _fascinating,_ and I couldn’t look away from him for even an instant, and in those crystal moments where we were suspended in the air he gave me everything I had never known about myself- never known about _us._ I was not a monster, a freak, or a demon: what I could do was a product of my birthright, the next step in human evolution, and it was the most natural thing in the world. Though Charles rushed to tell me this- as though if he didn’t hurry, time would take the words before he could speak them- I understood him perfectly. I felt him dance around inside my skull, mostly on the surface- showing me things, little images or sounds that illustrated his points- and occasionally deeper, flickering into the walls of memory within me. It did not feel like an intrusion. It felt like we weren’t on a plane, like we were all alone, the only people in the universe, and the way we exchanged words seemed like the most natural thing I had ever done. In my experience, learning to do new things was invariably painful...but this wasn’t. This was the opposite of painful.

At one point, he took my hand- or perhaps I took his- overwhelmed by it, this lightning that flowed between us. I had never felt this way before, not with anyone. The only other thing I had ever felt so strongly was hate, and yet this seemed like the farthest thing possible from hate.

“Passengers, buckle your seatbelts, we will be touching down in ten minutes.”

The voice of the pilot over the intercom shocked us both into remembering reality. In a motion that felt like an elastic band snapping back, Charles left my head completely. He also released my hand. The rest of the world returned- the murmurs of the other passengers, the stale smell of airplane air, the sound of the engine running around us. I could not know what Charles was thinking (not in the way that he could know such things) but he looked embarrassed- surprised with himself, maybe. Maybe I was surprised, too. One of the CIA men came over to talk to us- to talk about what to do with me, the uninvited guest- and the spell was broken completely. 

In the moments after, Charles’ hands trembled slightly. Mine were perfectly still.

-M-

The magic that the voice of the pilot had broken did not easily return. The hours that followed my disembarkment were long and annoying. When coming to the United States I had not intended to deal with the government at all- I did not have much respect for governments. This entire situation was, frankly, too complicated for them- I was a member of a new kind of people that they had never had to deal with before, and I was not in their country on the most legal of terms. Even more importantly, I was ‘dangerous’, wasn’t I? I had no doubt at all that my name and information was being placed on a list somewhere, in a file, and I resented that. I suspected that I would have been detained if not for Charles, who was the kind of man who never had to worry about being ‘detained’ in such a manner. Though his mental gift made him wonderful he possessed ordinary privileges too- the kind of privileges that cowed men like these without spilling any blood. A PhD from an acclaimed university, an important public persona, all the right paperwork...

(There was no number on his arm.)

...and most importantly, obscene wealth. I was not well versed in English nobility- was ‘Xavier’ a name with knightly implications? It would be too absurd, too beautiful, if it were true.

We were shunted from one cold building to the next, always in black cars and surrounded by black suits and ears from which spiraling wires trailed. Charles’ little sister Raven, who I met then, was like him in that she was not afraid of the men around us. She had never been on the wrong side of the law. I did think she was afraid of something else, though, there seemed to be a wall between her eyes and the rest of the world: a thin, almost insubstantial kind of mask.

(When I saw what she _really_ looked like for the first time, I understood.)

There was a similar nervousness in the young man we met at the CIA’s hidden institute, Hank McCoy- I pitied these two. They were the ones with the gifts, and yet they were ashamed of themselves, ashamed of the beautiful power that had been awarded to their veins. I thought for a moment- only a moment- about an idyllic future after Shaw, a world where the people like me- the ‘mutants’- were the ones in charge, not all the old white men in suits. Surely that was only natural, given that we were the next stage in human evolution. In this moment, I imagined myself and Charles as the leaders of a great new nation...but such fantasies did not stay in my head for long. Though a good many things had changed, others hadn’t. As the hours passed too slowly I cursed the fact that I had been unable to send my knife through Shaw’s jugular on that boat. Everything would have been perfect if I had. I would be free of him- my maker’s cursed chains finally lifted- and my reward for completing a life’s work would be a place at the table of this new revolution, and the fluttering touch of those too-powerful blue eyes.

But I had not killed him. I had not won this incredible prize, not yet.

The security in the building where we were held was paltry, and of course even the guards that were there used metal guns. They had absolutely no way of stopping me, should I choose to leave, and this fact itched under my skin. Being shown fanciful airplanes and tactical maps did little for me, everything here moved far too slowly. Anything relying on bureaucracy did. Shaw would be long gone, far out of the country by now, likely burying himself into some secret hidey-hole across the globe. Or perhaps he was still in his submarine- kept deep within the black of the waves, where no naked eye could spy him. I didn’t doubt he was gloating.

The day after I had been picked up by the CIA, I decided to leave. I was good at what I did, and I was unfulfilled. I knew I would do better on my own.

When it was over, I would return for Charles. The thought of leaving him now- after we had just barely met- made something in my chest twinge, but there wasn’t any other option. I had never really considered what I would do after I reached my goal, never wondered if I would feel purposeless or empty- but now I knew for certain I wouldn’t. There was a better world waiting for me, and I would take my place in it as soon as Shaw was dead.

I thought, perhaps arrogantly, that he would wait for me.


	3. 6:59/Goodnight, Erik

It was absurdly easy to ‘break into’ the room in the building where the files were kept (the locks, made of metal, clicked open with no greater effort than blinking) and find the one on Shaw. It was pleasantly thick- whatever they knew, I knew, now. I was dressed, and had already packed a few necessities easily swiped from around the compound, and now with confidence made my way out the front door. No one had even seen me. These people (these _humans)_ really were too incompetent, they had no chance of competing with Shaw and his associates. Before anyone woke, I would be long gone-

“From what I know about you, I’m surprised you’ve managed to stay this long.”

-but no, I realized instantly that I had made a mistake, thinking so confidently that I could leave without saying goodbye. Of course he would have known. He was better than them, he wasn’t ‘human’, he was like me. I turned- I had to look at him.

“What do you know about me?” I asked him after a moment, and the question was entirely genuine. After all, I had told him nothing, and yet the air seemed to shiver between us as though he knew me better than anyone in the world.

“Everything,” he replied, and I could have cried out then- what he said was perfect, so perfect that once again I was shocked by the knowledge that he was a real person. 

“Then you know to stay out of my head,” was what I replied- not a warning, no, not as much as it was a question. Could he possibly look through my life (my cold, hungry, violent life) and see something he liked? Before me now, I saw him smile, a subtle curl of his red lips. I did not feel him reach out to touch me, even though that was rather what I had expected.

“I can help you,” he said, taking a few steps towards me. On instinct more than desire, I took steps away to match.

“I don’t need your help,” I told him, and this was completely true. I was surprised he had thought it necessary to offer...given that he knew everything.

“Don’t kid yourself, you needed my help last night,” he said, his voice now strong. His smile had fallen away into something earnest. “It’s not just me you’re walking away from. Here, you have a chance to be a part of something much greater than yourself.”

And that he thought this way surprised me even more. Had I made assumptions about him? Certainly, and too many, at that. After all, I was not the one who could read minds- I chastised myself, knowing I should not have thought, even subconsciously, that he would be very much like me. 

(That he would think this paltry human organization was ‘something greater’- that he would think he wasn’t the real temptation to stay.)

I watched him in silence. I realized now that I did not know what he was going to do with me, and he could probably do anything he wanted.

“I could stop you leaving,” Charles said, more quietly now. He turned his head to one side, and frowned just a little. I thought he was cute. Still, he hadn’t tried to reach inside me, to touch me or control me the way I had seen him control other men. “I could, but I won’t.”

He turned away then, not even waiting to watch me leave, taking with him any opportunity for his eyes to judge my choice. A choice I was left entirely free to make. I watched him go, suddenly frozen, as though he really _had_ taken hold of me.

“Shaw’s got friends,” he called over his shoulder as he went back into the building. “You could do with some!”

Silence fell on the pathway as the door closed behind him. Beyond the glass, I saw him head down into one of the corridors- going to bed. He didn’t look back even once.

I turned away, looking out at the endless night before me. It would be easy to hijack a car and drive across a few state lines. I had stored some money and (false) identification in a makeshift safehold not far from the harbour where Shaw had been keeping his luxury vessel. It was not unbearably far from here. If I went now I could pick it up and be on my way to Mexico by noon tomorrow. I knew it would take nothing. This is what I had been doing for all of my adult life. I could see the steps ahead of me as clear as day.

…

_Damnit._

The desire to take them had evaporated completely. Oh, I didn’t want to be kept by any government, didn’t want to deal with that fat man and his ‘initiative’, didn’t want to have to encapsulate my revenge in treacherous politics. But I didn’t want to leave Charles, either, and this desire overwhelmed all others.

 _‘I could, but I won’t’-_ he was playing coy.

Suddenly overcome, I turned and ran back into the building, wrenching the metal lining of the door open so I did not even have to attend to it, my footsteps following his back down the corridor to the guest quarters. 

Running, I found him before he reached his own door, and at the sound of my near-frantic approach he turned, meeting my eyes again. 

“Erik!” he said, and he smiled openly, bouncing once on the balls of his feet. “So you’ve decided to stay.”

Ridiculously, at this sight my heart stuttered in my chest.

“I have,” I told him, too serious, as though I could hide how warm he made me feel.

“You’d better put that back, then,” Charles said, gesturing with a nod to my briefcase. 

“I’d better,” I replied, like a dullard.

He raised his eyebrows, still smiling, and in a slow, exaggerated motion turned back to face the way he had been walking, only looking over his shoulder to ensure I would follow. I did, of course. 

Did he know how important it was that he had changed my mind? Did he know how special that made him?

As we walked, a wild impulse came to me- I didn't even know if I could do this, I certainly didn’t know if I _should,_ and yet I tried anyway. I thought a thought as clearly as I could, and I looked at the back of his head as though I could point it at him, as though I could make it loud enough for him to hear.

_I want to kiss you._

Charles stumbled in his step, pausing for just an instant, and his eyes flickered back at me, incredulous. He looked away almost immediately. In spite of myself, I smirked. How could I possibly have wanted to leave? The hours spent driving alone (thinking of what I had left behind) would be unbearable.

We reached the door to Charles’ room and stopped, Charles making no move to open it and retreat from me. He did not lean away, either, when I stepped closer to him.

“I suppose I’ll see you in the morning, then,” he murmured slowly. His eyes looked even brighter up close. “Hank wants me to try something out.”

“Alright,” I said, and I waited just one more moment- waited to see if the universe would try to stop me, or if Charles would. I heard him breathe, a faint, shuddering inhale.

I kissed him.

It was a fairly gentle kiss. His lips were softer than I had imagined. I pulled away before it could become too much, still testing the waters, creating a distance only great enough for us to look at each other. His cheeks had turned pink. He was just pale enough for it to show.

“Now, Erik,” Charles said quietly, “that wasn’t exactly _legal.”_

“I don’t care about ‘legal’,” I told him. I felt him flicker across the forefront of my mind- looking for what I meant, for my intentions- and then withdraw. 

“No, of course you don’t,” Charles murmured, and this time when I leaned in to kiss him he met me halfway. This kiss was sweeter, deeper- I felt his body shift against mine. Even this came naturally between us, just like conversation, like lightning. Still, I did not try to embrace him. He seemed on the edge of tentative. Not the first time he had been kissed, certainly, but I guessed the first time he had been kissed by a _man._ When we broke apart the second time, his eyes were very wide, so I stepped back.

“Erik,” Charles said.

“I’d better return this,” was what I said in reply, jiggling the handle of the briefcase. He blinked once, and then his face took on a slightly bemused expression, eyebrows furrowing as he leaned back against the door. “Good night, Charles.”

I left him then, wholly aware of the implications of it all, and perhaps feeling a little too pleased with myself. As I turned the corner up ahead something flashed across the forefront of my mind, something very warm, like the end of a tongue of flame.

_-goodnighterik-_

I didn’t look back but, helpless from it, I smiled.


	4. 7:15/The Brain Machine

The next morning I made my way down to the office where Charles was discussing matters with the man who had brought us here. If I was to be committed to this plan, I was going to be certain I had an influence on it.

“Erik!” Charles said when he saw me in the doorway. He was smirking slightly. “You decided to stay.”

Like I had thought: cute. And a flirt, too. How bold he was, asking for something like that.

“If a new species is being discovered, then it should be by its own kind,” I said to the other man (the human man- the minority in the room). “Charles and I find the mutants, no suits.”

A touch, faint and warm, ran across the inside of my skull and down my spine as the agent protested. I listened closely, but Charles said nothing to me.

“...and besides, Charles is fine with the CIA being involved, isn’t that right?”

I looked back at him. He wasn’t smirking anymore, he seemed like he was concentrating very hard on something. On me. That was more than a little flattering.

_Are you?_ I thought this, hoping he would hear. The thing was, I actually didn’t know.

“No,” Charles said aloud. His tone was very mild. “I’m sorry, but I’m with Erik. We’ll find them alone.”

I felt a spark of warmth inside, and this time it was entirely my own.

-X-

At the installation (which looked to me like a giant golf ball- as much a symbol of American governmental wealth as anything) Charles was hooked up to some vaguely monstrous seeming machine, and it was only because it had been designed by another of our kind that I allowed it. I didn’t doubt that the CIA was rubbing its hands together somewhere, gleefully considering how to use him (how to use _us)._ Charles was too trusting, a fault of his gentle upbringing, I was sure.

“What an adorable lab rat you make, Charles,” I told him. Of course, what I meant was that he was adorable in general. But- “I’ve been a lab rat. I know one when I see one.”

No, I did not like this kind of _cooperation._ But he had agreed to find the other mutants with me, not with the CIA, and that was more than good enough. 

When the machine began to do its job, I felt it. I think everyone in the room did. The lights on the headset turned white, the room filled with a static electricity that raised all the hairs on my arms, and for a moment Charles _burned_ inside my head. I almost took a step back, feeling like I had been slammed by a tidal wave, but in an instant it was gone- racing out past me, across the distant world.

And Charles- oh, Charles! I could see the excitement in his eyes, the strain as he reached for the metal rungs of the pedestal. He laughed; he looked like he was flying. I would have taken his hands to support him, if not for the company. How brightly his eyes glowed- I didn’t doubt he was seeing something that the rest of us wouldn’t even have the faculties to comprehend.

Then the machine began its secondary task- recording location information in the form of little black letters on white paper. It was crass, filthy, a little corruption of Charles’ wild, wonderful power. Did the others really not understand? Were they really so privileged as to be blind to the implications of this?

_Identification is how it starts._

The tattoo on my arm itched.

But I kept this to myself, and when Charles came down he was dizzy and high, breathless from his flight. He stumbled into my chest, trembling in such a way that I actually had to hold him up for a moment, and I listened with rapt attention as he rambled about what he had seen. His face was flushed, pupils blown wide. He was extraordinarily beautiful, and so very alive. I couldn’t believe that the others were able to look away from him, interested as they were to examine the results on the paper. For an instant, when both their backs were turned, Charles took my hand and squeezed it tightly. He smiled, and though by now I should have been getting used to it, again I was shocked by how my heart shuddered for him.

“Let’s have a look, then,” Charles said when he had caught his breath, and Hank handed him the paper, and piece by piece a veneer of propriety was restored.

The rest of the afternoon was spent narrowing down the results into a contained list. Charles had been able to touch people all across the Americas (with a stronger system, he might have managed the whole world- or so said Hank) but we decided to only begin reaching out in the United States and Canada. Charles also, from memory, eliminated any addresses that had corresponded to children (of which there had been very many), the elderly (of which there had been very few), or others he considered indisposed based on his brief liaison into their minds (such as parents, the ill or infirm, and those very passionate about their personal work). These, Raven blacked out with a felt pen at my suggestion. In the end we were left with a small, comprehensive list of coordinates. Still, a daunting thing. It had not been so long ago that I had thought I was the only one in the world. No, not long at all- and yet my understanding of this world had changed so drastically I felt almost like I was living a different life.

We brought our modified list back to the CIA, the original shredded, and it was approved that Charles and I would be sent out the next day by plane.

-M-

“Why don’t I get to come?” Raven asked in a borderline-petulant voice as we made our way back to the rooms for the night- myself a few steps behind the siblings, seemingly forgotten. Even though we were alone, she dressed herself up like a human girl, with golden skin and hair. “A trip like that sounds fun.”

“Err, well, someone needs to stay,” Charles told her, shrugging his shoulders. “Whoever we find will be dropped off here while we locate the others. We’ll need you to look after them.”

For a moment, Raven looked almost offended, opening her mouth to protest, but Charles spoke again before she could:

“And besides, you’ll get to stay with Hank. That won’t be so bad, will it?”

“Charles!” Raven snapped, but she laughed. “Shut _up!_ Don’t tell me it’s that obvious.”

“Only to me,” Charles replied, and Raven pushed his shoulder. I wondered if he even noticed how fake she looked- perhaps such things didn’t matter to one who could see what people had beneath their skulls.

“Alright, I’m going to bed,” she said. “I’ve heard quite enough from you tonight, _Professor.”_

“I’ll say goodbye before we leave tomorrow morning,” Charles replied, and she smiled at him as she opened her door, raising one hand in a little wave- first to him, and then to me, and then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

Charles watched it for a moment, and then slowly he turned to me.

“‘Someone needs to stay’?” I said, my tone on the edge of mocking. Charles raised his eyebrows.

“Now, don’t be too vain, Erik,” he replied lightly. “She’s very young, and I want her to be safe. What we’re doing might be dangerous.”

“Not for you and me,” I said. In truth, I doubted anything could be truly dangerous for the two of us together. Charles smiled, and he stepped towards me, closing the distance between us with the measured laziness of a house cat.

“I just told you not to be vain,” he murmured, and then he kissed me, lips pressing to the side of my mouth. I turned into it, my body already too warm from the thrill, wanting to take it deeper- but he didn’t let me, shifting so the kiss broke with a faint sound not unlike the cracking of a whip.

“Goodnight, Erik,” he said, aloud this time, and I had one more glimpse of his mischievous little smile before he was gone, vanished into his own room and voice silent in my head. His scent hovered in the air before me for a moment more.

As Charles closed his door, two men turned the corner at the far end of the corridor, approaching me while speaking quietly to one another. I found I resented them very much and, resigned, retired to my room as well.

Once inside, I found myself running my fingers over my lips. I was a fool.


	5. 8:37/The Girl at the Gentleman’s Club

As I had wanted, the seek-and-uncover mission was being done entirely on our terms, without CIA intervention or oversight. I could only assume that Charles had helped ensure this was the case- pushing and pulling inside the heads of the authorities. The man who ran the mutant-theory institute, though, was surprisingly accepting- more pliable than others, perhaps. I was glad. It would have been insufferable, trying to work surrounded by suits who constantly had to call their lords before making any move. And besides, I very much wanted to spend some time with Charles.

Our first trip was to Las Vegas.

The coordinates from Cerebro, when inputted to a GPS, lead us specifically to a particular street of nightclubs. The moment we set foot upon it, Charles shook his head, squinting in the noon sunlight.

“No, she isn’t here,” he said. “She was when I had the helmet on, obviously…”

“Perhaps she works in one of these...establishments,” I said. “We could check again tonight.”

“That’s true,” Charles agreed, and his lips stayed pouted on the last syllable a little longer than they needed to be. “...what do you suggest we do in the meantime?”

We ended up going to lunch and, entirely without intending to, spent hours of the afternoon in the restaurant talking to each other, until by evening we simply decided to stay for dinner as well. We talked about anything and everything, that which meant much and that which meant little. I liked talking to Charles. I liked the sound of his voice, I liked the little gestures he made, I liked how he smiled and blushed and how his eyes glowed when he was speaking about something particularly important to him. I liked that he listened attentively to what I had to say, and it was more than easy to return this grace, because everything he said was so _interesting._ As we sat occasionally our legs would brush, or the tips of our fingers would touch, and sometimes it was an accident and sometimes it wasn’t. 

“Do you visit these kinds of places often?” I asked Charles as we readied ourselves that night- dressing in the formal clothes Charles had packed, and putting loose bills into our jacket pockets in case we would need them to attract our lady’s attention.

“What- strip clubs?” he said, incredulous. “No, not often. I prefer, err...regular bars.”

“I was only asking because you look the part,” I told him lowly, and I made a point of looking him up and down, tracing his body with my eyes. Charles picked up on it immediately, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall on one shoulder, assuming a pose of casual confidence.

“And what part is that?” he purred, and the sound made me feel like someone had shot a jet of hot water down my spine. I could only hope it didn’t show on my face.

_-notonyourfacebut-_

“A wealthy English playboy,” I said, ignoring what I had heard in my head. Charles laughed quietly.

“Well, you look like a spy,” he told me, and for a fraction of a second I saw white teeth catch on a red lower lip, and it was unbearable. “The movie star variety, anyway.”

“When we get there, I’ll buy you a drink,” I said, and my voice sounded harsher, perhaps, than it should have. I wondered if he minded that I couldn’t bring myself to look away from him.

“Lucky me,” was his reply, and from the self-satisfied way he glanced back at me I supposed he didn’t.


	6. 9:08/The Long Drive

Charles and I wandered the streets of Washington, our steps leisurely. Charles had two fingers pressed to his temple, eyes darting back and forth, but so far he hadn’t much success- he was convinced that our next ‘target’ was a taxi driver or delivery person of some sort, and so we began our search on the block Cerebro had recorded, and took our time moving out from there.

We walked close enough that every few moments my knuckles would brush his free hand, where it rested by his side. I knew I shouldn’t stare, but he was so _pretty,_ with his soft skin and boyish hair and bright blue eyes…

Charles blushed suddenly, and his hand fell from his temple.

“You think I’m pretty?” he asked with a grin, turning to look at me.

“You were listening?” I said instead of answering, but inside I added: _of course._

“I wasn’t trying to listen,” Charles told me. The flush hadn’t faded. “But sometimes things just- pop out at me, like...like a shout. I can’t help but hear it.”

I looked into his eyes and concentrated as hard as I could on the following thought: _you are so pretty._

“Like that?” I asked him, completely serious.

“Precisely,” he said, and he looked down and away from me, smiling coyly, and I decided I couldn’t resist any longer. I took his hand, entwining our fingers, and he turned back to me in shock.

“Erik, we’re in public-”

“Then don’t let them see,” I told him, and I pushed him back against the concrete wall of a law firm we had been passing, kissing him then and there.

Charles made a tiny, startled noise, and from the corner of my eye I saw a hand fly up to his temple once more. _Good,_ I thought, and deepened the kiss, turning it into a matter of tongues as much as lips.

This time, I touched him, my hands finding his waist under his jacket, running down his spine. Charles moaned, and I thought it was probably the sweetest sound I had ever heard, and I hoped he knew it. We were pressed together, Charles wrapping his free arm around the back of my neck, and it was all too good. For an instant, I could have sworn we were inseparable. 

The kiss broke only so we could breathe, and I nuzzled desperately against Charles’ cheek, pressing kisses there and against his jaw, down the thin strip of his pale throat where I could reach it above the collar of his jacket. I found I rather wished said jacket wasn’t there.

“Oh, my God, Erik,” Charles gasped, and I took his lips again, noticing now that the hand he used to concentrate his telepathy was shaking terribly. I could hear people passing us on the street, barely a few feet away, city men and women going about their business like nothing was happening. Charles’ eyes were rapturous, but his brow was furrowed.

“You’re right,” I murmured into his skin, and I kissed him only once more before pulling away. “We shouldn’t do this in public. It isn’t fair that you have to think about something else.”

I let him go, then, and Charles groaned, a deep and frustrated sound that made me smile. His cheeks were nearly as red as his lips. Still, he dropped his hand, and I moved on to continue our walk. I loved that I could hear him panting as he caught up to me.

“I know you think I’m a tease,” Charles muttered under his breath. “So that makes you ‘pot’, doesn’t it? Wait-!”

Charles stopped suddenly, fingers pressed to his temple once more. 

“There- one street over- _stop that cab!”_

And he took my hand, and we were running. I heard him laugh, and I realized I had never felt so young before.


	7. 10:32/The Boy in the Cage

I detested the military base where the young man, Alex Summers, was being kept. We passed through gates topped with high, barbed wire to get inside, where men in uniforms marched to and fro across the asphalt. Beneath the earth, where the few bulletproof windows were precisely at ground level, there was a long line of concrete cages. So the boy was being kept like an animal in a zoo. The image was as familiar to me as it was prophetic. This was the future the human governments would want for us, that much I was sure, and walking through these cold-smelling halls filled me with an old kind of rage.

_-itsalrighterik-_

I looked over at Charles- he was watching me, brow furrowed, obviously concerned. His fingers brushed mine, a gentle comfort, but I knew that what shone in his eyes was sympathy, not empathy. He did not recognize the horror of these structures the way I did- did not see how they could be used to keep _bodies,_ bodies worked until they had no soul, bodies whose names had been stolen and replaced by a number. His childhood had not been marked by starving, beaten faces and shaved heads, by the peculiar smell of the smoke that came from those cursed chimneys. 

_-itnevershouldhavehappenednevernottoyounottoanyone-_

No, Charles was too soft, too rich, too properly ‘white’. I couldn’t act like it was his fault, but in some ways he was a product of polite society- horrified in that distant, retrospective way, able to turn away from the abominations of history should they become too much because they had not _made_ him, had not been etched into his marrow. Charles was the kind of man who could suppose that such things ‘would never happen again’- who could look upon an installation such as this one and not know that _it could always happen again._

_-imsosorry-_

I turned away, and imagined a wall of steel, smooth and tall and impenetrable. I knew I could not really keep him out, I didn’t think that was even possible, but I hoped he would understand the message. I didn’t want to be touched just then, not even by a touch as sweet as his.

I felt him withdraw. I was grateful. I did not resent him- he was my kind, even if he wasn’t my mother’s kind. He was by my side, and I wanted him there. What he didn’t understand I would make up for.

I saw the path of the future laid out before my feet, as clear as the heavy concrete floor leading up to the boy’s cell. A time would come- a time not so far off, I thought- when the devices of the world’s governments would be used against our people. When we would be sought out and destroyed, put to work and put in cages, for our genes separated us from the human majority. When that time came, Charles would realize I was right- he would come with me, and together we would save our species.

In this image of the future, I had only perfect confidence.


	8. 11:15/The Boy in the Water

Charles had paid for our tickets to the aquarium, and slowly we made our way up its floors, absently admiring the displays of marine life.

“He’s just above us,” Charles told me quietly- speaking of our mutant. “But he’s distracted, thinking about a girl. We should wait until she’s gone.”

He turned his head curiously at a tank of particularly bright tropical fish, and a thought came to me- something I had never considered before. I probably wouldn’t have considered it at all, if not for the attentive way Charles was watching the little things swim.

“Can you hear them?” I asked, and if a bit of wonder slipped into my voice, there was no controlling that.

“...the people upstairs? The floor’s too thick, I have to concentrate-”

“No, the fish,” I murmured, my eyes following their graceful movements in the water. “Do you know what the fish are thinking?”

“No,” Charles replied with a faint smile. “No, I cannot do anything with animals.”

As he spoke, I couldn’t help but think that something in his voice sounded slightly sad. I turned back to him, searching, and he gave me a little shrug. 

“When I was a boy…” he began, and his brow furrowed. “Well, it’s not important. Let’s just say my mutation was a little hard on me, sometimes.”

“Tell me,” I said. _Unless you don’t want to,_ I tried to convey. Charles was still smiling, but it wasn’t a smile that reached all the way into his eyes.

“It started when I was very young,” he said lightly, like he wasn’t bothered at all. “I didn’t understand what was happening to me, of course.”

“You started...controlling people’s minds?” I asked, and my own memories flickered behind my eyes- it had started when I was young, too. Knocking the cutlery from its drawers when I was angry, twisting the rungs of the bed’s backboard when I had nightmares. Bending gates, crushing men’s helmets, moving coins.

“No, I started hearing-” Charles’ breath caught slightly in his chest. His eyes were very wide. “I started hearing people _scream…”_

_-voiceseverywheretalkingshouting-_

“The painful thoughts- fear, anger, grief, that kind of thing- are always the loudest. At the time I didn’t know how to- to manage it, so everyday was just this constant barrage of voices...people saying horrible things. People dying, or worse, _killing._ I heard so much violence.”

A flurry of images passed behind my eyes- impressions, nothing more. The bruised body of a naked prepubescent girl, a blood-stained bag, a man dropping from the roof of a building. A series of sounds: crunch, squish, drip. Someone choking.

“Whenever we went to the city, it was the worst. My mother would say these things if I ever acted on it- say that I was crazy, that I was going to need medication, that I would be locked away in an institute when I was older. But of course, she didn’t actually _say_ anything. It was all in her head. I learned to never tell anyone what I heard.”

I saw in my mind the image of a very young boy curled in bed- no older than six or seven- his hands were pressed over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut, and I felt against my own brain the long, dull ache of insomnia. The boy was trembling, and he knew- I knew- no one was going to comfort him.

“Animals, though, were always silent. So, my favourite thing was to go out into the country- by the lake- as far away from people as I could, because the foxes, at least, couldn’t tell me how they loved to kill the mice, and the mice couldn’t tell me how it felt to die. It’s never truly silent, but…”

Charles trailed off- his voice, through all this, had faded to a whisper- and then came back to himself with a little shiver, eyes blinking a few times in rapid succession. I checked the surrounding room quickly- but we were alone, so easily I slipped an arm about his waist, pulling him to my chest to kiss his forehead.

“Oh, Erik,” Charles said with a little smile. “It wasn’t so terrible. I had it much better than-”

_-you-_

“-so many people.”

I kissed him again, on the cheek this time, and he hummed. When he suggested we check on the mutant boy upstairs, I agreed, but I held his hand for as long as he would let me, as though that could make up for anything. Charles was even gentler than I had thought. So, so powerful, and yet delicate, also. 

That was certainly beautiful, but strangely I thought it rather admirable, also.


	9. 12:01/The Man at the Bar

Charles looked over at me and snorted as the door of the bar in Winnipeg closed behind us, his face tight with the urge to suppress his laughter.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” he said, and I smiled at him. I supposed I had been more offended by the mutant man than he, but I was ready enough to take my mind off of it. Something occurred to me then- our return flight was booked for the morning and, for once, we wouldn’t be bringing another person with us, a person in need of much attention and explanation and reassurance. For tonight, Charles and I would be alone.

“Let’s go to a bar,” I offered as we walked down the street, the sun setting on the buildings around us. “A nicer one than that.”

“A wonderful idea,” Charles chirped. “I can return your gesture from before; buy you a drink.”

-M-

The night had extended itself longer than either of us had planned, but at the moment I didn’t care. There was alcohol in my veins, a few too many (surprisingly decent) Canadian beers, and they had made me warm and supple on the inside. I was not in a hurry to go anywhere- the atmosphere around me was good, and I felt comfortable, a contrast to the last time I had tasted beer. No, I found I didn’t even want to think about such ugly things as that, not when there was such a beauty in front of me.

Charles was just past the edge of drunk, and he handled it magnificently. The apples of his cheeks were pink, his lips impossibly redder than they were normally, and his eyes glittered as he surveyed our surroundings, no doubt picking up on the bustle of thoughts in the room around us. Like this, he laughed a good deal more, and seemed to find almost anything I said amusing, which from someone else might have been grating but only made him appear all the sweeter. Our legs were entwined beneath the table where we sat, uncaring if anyone took notice. At the moment I loved him completely and unconditionally, and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else in the world.

“You know, Erik,” Charles began, and he giggled helplessly, head falling back so I caught a flash of his white throat, revealed by two undone buttons. “Your ability to control metal is a mutation. A very _groovy_ mutation.”

“What?” I managed, sure I was smiling like a buffoon, and he laughed again. 

“I’m just letting you know,” he continued, words slurring together slightly, “that you are a mutant. And a very handsome one, too.”

I couldn’t tell if he knew how much he was affecting me, saying things like that. Smirking and biting at the inside of his lower lip like that. His left hand was on the table, and I reached out, trailing my fingers down his wrist and into his palm as he turned it over.

“You’re a mutant, too,” I murmured to him, only loud enough for him to hear. “And you’re beautiful.”

Charles looked up at me, eyes dark and suddenly, unimaginably wanton.

_-iwantyou-_

My fingers entwined with his, and to hold hands like this was the most natural thing in the world. The heat from his skin transferred to mine, running down my arm and straight to my groin.

_-kissmecomeawaywithme-_

“Anything you want, baby,” I growled, and I stood, holding his hand to steady him as he followed. His free one came up to his temple, and he kissed me then and there, quick and wet and sloppy. I didn’t even have time to process it before he was leading me away, out of the too-warm bar and into the chilled spring air, both of us with a waver in our steps. At the time it seemed an impossibly long journey back to our hotel, but later I barely remembered the transition, my recollection only containing the smell of melting snow, a handful of bright lights, and the way those lights caught in Charles’ dark hair. 

When back inside our room I was kissing him like I was starved, and the sounds drawn from his throat were enough to make me feel like I was going mad. It was a terrible effort to take our clothes off- I couldn’t bring myself to care if anything ripped- and yet still I was overwhelmed when I had all of him in my arms, bare white skin under my fingertips. There was too much to touch, to kiss, and I had to have him everywhere at once and yet the limits of my body made such a thing impossible. Charles laughed, breath hot against my ear, and pushed me back into the bed. I saw him clearly now- his pupils had eclipsed most of the blue in his eyes, and his lips were curved up into a smirk. What a wicked little thing he was. Exquisite.

“I like listening to that,” Charles purred as he climbed onto my lap, thrusting lazily against my hip. Ah, and there was something else to look at- Charles’ cock, as pretty and slender as he was, with an end red enough to match his cheeks. I made some dumb, animal noise, and Charles giggled.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” he murmured, and somehow his hand found my own (achingly hard) member, giving the base a little squeeze. “Well, I like yours too.”

Was this really the first time he had done this with a man? Before I had been rather certain of myself, he seemed at times too innocent, like he was unused to being the one on the receiving end of the attention. Now I could not say- perhaps he had been playing with me all along. He seemed entirely confident in how he touched me, kissing down my neck and stroking my cock like it was easy, and I didn’t think I could be any more aroused.

Regardless, he did not answer my questions, instead posing his own.

“How do you want it?” he said, tongue hot on my skin, and because he seemed so comfortable (and because I was drunk, therefore bold) my mind shot to the most intense of possibilities, and with one hand I found myself clutching the soft round of Charles’ ass.

“Oh,” Charles gasped, and he laughed again, almost uncontrollably. He was too cute when he was drunk. “Well, if you really want to...do we have anything?”

I pushed him off of me, and he landed in the comforters with a sweet little ‘oof’. I tried to blank out my mind to avoid spoiling the surprise, but failed, and I hadn’t even made it across the room to my duffel bag before Charles was calling out from the bed:

“You _brought_ some? Erik! You’re too confident.”

“No I’m not,” I said as I made my way back to the bed, bottle of lubricant in hand. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Charles moaned instead of replying, spreading his legs, and spots danced over my vision. What came next was little more than a blur of need in which time had no meaning- I kissed his knee and thigh and the base of his lovely spine, anywhere his skin was presented to me. My fingers kept on task, working him open until he was panting and clutching at my hair, hips rolling back to meet me.

_-itsenougherikplease-_

“Anything you want,” I said again, and then I claimed his lips.

There was almost no resistance as I slipped inside, only a hot drag of pleasure, a sensation that crackled across my skin and burrowed down towards my bones. Of course it would be like this, between us- of course it would feel like our bodies had been made to fit together, puzzle pieces united at last. I saw the same sentiment reflected in Charles’ eyes. At the first thrust his head rolled back, lips parting in a silent moan, and he was everywhere- hands running over my shoulders, legs wrapped around my waist, stomach pressed to my chest. I felt him, hot and flickering, deep inside my head. It was too good. I wanted him there.

“Charles,” I said, and the word was almost like a prayer. He grinned at me, and his hair had fallen across his glittering forehead, and his collarbones were shifting under his skin with every breath. As always (but now more than ever) his beauty made me feel helpless.

“Erik,” Charles purred in reply, and he lifted two fingers to his temple, his smile full of mischief. “Listen.”

I felt something then, and for a wild moment I couldn’t even describe it; the mirror of sensation, as though when I slid into Charles I was also sliding into _myself,_ holding my own waist, pressing my lips to my own chest- then I understood. He was showing me. Good _Lord._ Everywhere our skin brushed there was an incredible heat. I felt him squirm against me and I felt the pleasure I was giving him, and in that moment I realized that if this was so, the reverse must be true, also.

“That’s it, _schatz,”_ I growled. Treasure- that’s precisely what he was. “Feel it- how good you are for me.”

Charles cried out, and I bit his throat so I would feel it, so he would tighten around me and so he would feel that, too. I had never had sex like this before. Of course not- I had only ever been with _humans._ This was how it was meant to be, and this was paradise. 

It felt like we had been at it for hours and simultaneously only an instant, when Charles started to come; though he wasn’t concentrating anymore, his arms both flung about my neck, every surge of his ecstasy crashed into my brain like a wind storm. I was almost afraid of what might happen if I followed him- how could the peak of a love like ours not destroy the universe?- and yet I was unable to hold back, pounding into him with complete abandon, his slick, clenching heat sending me toppling from the edge of the cliff.

I probably screamed. I heard nothing but unintelligible whispers in Charles’ voice, a voice coming from within my eardrums. For a long time it was like I didn’t even have a body anymore- he had obliterated me completely, and all that remained from the release was a steady white hum of fulfilment. Consciousness left me like a receding tide.

I woke once, my eyes opening into the dim yellow light of the lamp beside our bed; though the sweat had cooled our bodies were still entwined. I was holding him so close there didn’t seem to be any way to let him go. He was deeply asleep, his breathing like the lapping of waves on a beach, and so I closed my eyes again.

This time I did not wake until morning.


	10. 12:55/Mutant and Pride

The other mutants had settled in well at the CIA’s institute. I supposed it helped that none of them had any particularly grand attachments to their previous lives, the lives they had lived before we had come and presented them with the truth of their existence. They had been lonesome wanderers, just like me.

I had a suspicion that it was really Charles who had convinced them to come. There was something about him that seemed to promise ‘home’- or at least, that was how I felt in his arms at night. In this way, perhaps he was even more powerful than I had imagined.

But, that being said, Raven and Hank had done their part as well, entertaining the guests and showing them the various fancy pieces of equipment stored about the facility. I wondered absently if the two had fucked yet- in particular, I wondered if Raven had kissed him without any disguise marring her skin. I was doubtful. She had not shown any of the new mutants, that was for certain.

Interesting people they were, these ‘new mutants’- the girl who could fly, the boys who could survive anything, could make sounds sharp enough to shatter glass, could create a light of destruction from nothing but his skin. They were the future of our species, and I was very glad we had found them, taking them away from the degrading positions the humans had set upon them (slaves, all: a whore, a cab driver, a prisoner, a waiter). That being said, I doubted they were up to facing off against a man like Shaw (Shaw who was still missing, unseen, whose memory itched under my skin when I could not force myself to think of anything else- Shaw whose absence was the ache of my delayed revenge). But time would tell. I tried to think of other things. It was not always difficult- certainly, it was not difficult at all if Charles was there.

In the time between our meetings (with the other mutants, with the CIA, with both) we played chess and conversed.

(Or, when Charles deemed it safe enough, had sex. Though as far as I was concerned these things were not so very different.)

“What will the future be like, you think?” I asked him one night, enraptured by the shadows his eyelashes made on his cheeks as he studied the board between us.

“What, like flying cars and cities on the moon?” he replied, only half paying attention.

“The future for our kind,” I corrected. I had an image of it myself- a kind of pet picture that I had been developing, fueled by our trips across the dirty, crowded, spoilt North America, with its hollowness and hunger and lack of charity. I had always known that humanity did a poor job caring for itself- after all, there was no other species on earth that created death camps for its own kind. In my heart of hearts, I doubted there was anything about them worth saving.

“There’s always something worth saving,” Charles murmured chidingly, moving his bishop across the board. “But what do _you_ think the future will be like, Erik?”

“There are a couple of options,” I told him. The first, and most likely (the one I privately guessed would always have to be overcome) was a Holocaust, of course, and even though I did not think the word strongly, across the table Charles flinched. “But there is one I would like best.”

“Show me,” Charles said with a smile, and he rested two fingers on his temple, opening himself up to me. Reaching for it. I took a breath, and tried to bring the images forth as clearly as I could.

A vast, sparkling city, of architecture both ancient and modern- Greek columns and Roman roads intertwined with towers of tall steel and sparkling glass. There were parks between the blocks, and trees that lined the streets. The air smelled fresh because of it. A festival was taking place- coloured flags and paper lanterns decorated the fronts of houses, and classical music could be heard from a distance, echoing between the fanciful buildings. Beyond this city there were long swaths of country, sprawling acres of well-maintained farmland and wild forest, dotted with colourful little communities and comfortable houses. The people of these communities, and the people of the city, were fresh faced and healthy- and all of them were mutants. In the sky passed those who could fly, and the people on the ground waved, instead of shooting them down. A myriad of different talents put themselves to work in the farms and shops and industries- and it was fulfilling work, and no one was a slave, for everyone looked out for themselves as well as one another. The people of this future were strong and independent, and everywhere there was great beauty, and in this place nature was in concordance with its people instead of against them. Something like a paradise- the closest thing to a paradise on Earth. A paradise occupied by my people, my kind.

There was another, tentative addition- a pair of thrones in a grand hall, a room that shone and glittered with the vast technology of the future. The symbol of one throne was a pair of scales for justice, the other a tree, for education. This latter one was occupied by Charles, and in the fantasy I imagined him exactly as he was now- comfortably but smartly dressed and healthy. I made one addition- a little golden circlet for his dark curls, the mark of a modest king. In my mind I reached out to him, and he took my hand with a smile.

“Oh my,” said the real Charles, and I was reminded of the world around me. Across the table, Charles was flushed- both flattered and embarrassed, I thought. “Now, that was very lovely, but I must admit I have some doubts about the _realism.”_

“You don’t think you could be a king?” I asked, though I knew he didn’t. “It seems to me there would be nothing better suited for you.”

Other than, perhaps, being a god. He was simply too powerful- overwhelmingly powerful- and that power was matched perfectly by his gentleness and grace. Charles could never be a selfish ruler, his conscience wouldn’t allow it, and he was too intelligent to make poor decisions. I knew he would make a wonderful king.

(As long as I was there to rule with him- to protect him and what he stood for, to dispense the punishment he could not.)

“We’re not kings,” Charles murmured faintly. His smile had faded slightly. “We’re only people, Erik.”

“You said you wanted to help them,” I replied, speaking of our conversation from the day previous, held out on the steps before the Obelisk (another perverse symbol). “That this was the start of something incredible. I think you’re right- just not in the way you think you are.”

Charles hummed mildly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and I was pleased with him. I knew he would take some time to convince, but that didn’t bother me- in truth, I greatly preferred that he was his own person. We worked better together because we were different, and I knew clearly that the mutant kingdom I imagined would be a society that valued differences. On the board, I moved a knight, narrowing in on his queen.

“And where are all the other people?” Charles asked me. “In your kingdom- where are the regular humans?”

I shook my head at him wryly. I knew he knew my answer to that. There was no way for the two kinds to co-exist peacefully, that much was for certain. If humanity were to be the majority, then our people would be hunted to extinction for the threat we posed. If _we_ were to be the majority, then the humans would be unfairly disadvantaged, lesser beings that they were. It would only be best to keep us apart, for everyone’s sake.

“You know I disagree,” Charles told me plainly. His tone was light, only slightly reproachful. “I don’t think we’re a different species. It’s just another mutation- like green eyes, or red hair. People won’t understand at first, but...we can help them understand. And you know, between the two of us, _I_ am the one with the PhD in genetics.”

“Don’t worry too much,” I told him with a smile. I took his left hand and raised it to my lips, pressing a kiss to the smooth skin there. “It’s a far off fantasy, anyway.”

“That’s another thing,” Charles said with a laugh. He was blushing; I loved that. _“Two_ kings, Erik, instead of a queen? Honestly, that’s the least realistic thing you’ve shown me.”

“Why?” I asked, and the question was genuine. “We shouldn’t have to hide what we are. We shouldn’t have to hide _anything.”_

_Mutant, and **proud.**_

Charles looked at me, wide-eyed. I realized he had probably never even considered it before. What a pitiful thought.

“It would not be illegal in my kingdom,” I told him plainly. “Nor shameful.”

Charles looked away from me, and moved a piece on the chessboard.

“That’s check,” he said. “Mate in three.”

I looked back at it; he was right. There might be a way out if I concentrated, but I wasn’t interested in that. I had accepted that there was no escaping him a long time ago- on the night he had told me he would let me leave. I stood.

“You’ve won,” I said, and I put a finger under his chin to tilt his head back so I could kiss him. He let me. More than that, he reciprocated- his arms wrapping slowly around my neck, tongue moving sweetly against mine. God, he was perfect. Could he really not see what I did? He was gorgeous, and what we had was pure, beautiful beyond comparison. Something as natural and striking as the sun coming out to touch the horizon in the morning.

“This is not shameful,” I whispered against his cheek, and he shivered.

“Enough, Erik,” he replied softly.

_-noneedtotalk-_

“Alright,” I murmured, his implication sending a spike of arousal through my body. I kissed him again, leading him away to his private room, where the night could melt away into soft white skin and languid pleasure and the sounds (both in the air and in my head) that he made for me.


	11. 13:13/Magneto

The news arrived in the early evening. Shaw’s whereabouts had been discovered- or his future whereabouts, anyway. He had a meeting with the Soviet Union’s Chief of Defence in a house on the outskirts of Moscow _tomorrow morning._

MacTaggert said it might be our only chance to catch him- at least for some time.

This knowledge reawakened in me all of the anger and impatience I had been staving off in these last weeks. The predator in my mind rose, hot and vicious, and it was a terrible effort to sit still. I saw his face before me- his smug, grinning face, leaning over my child-self as I was tied to a table- and I wanted to run to him and rip his throat out with my teeth.

I suspect I frightened Charles with this kind of thinking. The look he gave from across the table was concerned, his brow furrowed, but I didn’t care.

“When are we leaving?” I asked the agent, my voice as tight as my fists. There was no way I would accept any other possibility. If she didn’t want us to come I would go anyway.

“In an hour,” she replied, and a wave of black satisfaction flooded my veins. “I’ve been given the green light to take you all with us to Russia. Make any preparations now.”

I stood, and I didn’t bother to check if anyone followed, setting a rapid pace down the corridor to my room. I realized I was hungry for it- I had been putting aside my hunting nature for so long that its force inside me was almost overwhelming. I could hear my burning blood as it rushed through my veins. I was more than ready. Shaw’s death was overdue.

Inside my room I did not bother to fumble through my bags. All I wanted I drew to me without even needing to think- a handful of knives, a winter jacket with metal studs, and one particular keepsake. I did not know if the American government would concede to giving me a gun- but that didn’t matter, because I did not need one. I only wanted the metal pressed close to my skin, where I could feel it move against me. 

When I turned, Charles was in the doorway, wide-eyed and slightly out of breath.

“Erik-”

“Take this,” I said, and I held out to him the handle of one of the smaller knives. He hesitated, and I snapped at him: _“Take it.”_

He did, and I felt the steel handle sing faintly against his palm as he tucked it into his inside jacket pocket.

“Good,” I said, more calmly now. “You don’t have to use it, but I want it there, so I won’t lose you.”

Charles nodded, and moved over to his own room, similarly to find more appropriate clothes. I took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching my fists for a moment. Charles certainly didn’t need a knife. Like me, the weapons of others were at his disposal- I didn’t doubt that, should he wish to, he could make a man go mad with nothing but a look. But at the same time, the worst possible scenario flickered through my mind- Charles captured, made helpless somehow and put at Shaw’s mercy (that which was the opposite of mercy). I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something like that were to happen- that man did not deserve a single speck of the brilliance inside Charles’ head. 

I resolved that he wasn’t going to get it. I was going to kill him.

“Let’s go fetch the others,” Charles said, popping back into my doorway, pulling on a pair of gloves. I agreed, if only because of the time constraint, and as we walked we were joined by Agent MacTaggert again. She did not outwardly protest this plan of taking untrained 20-somethings on a secret military mission to Russia- I suspected she had been the one to advocate bringing the ‘mutant team’ along. But there was no reason for her to care what happened to us (we, the dogs, the aliens). Charles trusted the CIA too much, thinking that they valued our well being, and would mind sacrificing us if need be.

“I don’t think these kids are ready for Shaw,” I said as we rounded a corner- the same idea I had put forth before, and Charles had disagreed then, too. But he didn’t know Shaw as I did- even if he had seen all of my memories, they still were not his own.

(I had failed on that boat, the day we had met. _ **I**_ had failed.)

“I think they’re going to surprise you,” Charles replied. “They’re an exceptional bunch of young people…”

We entered the courtyard to a rather contradictory sight. The statue in the middle was broken and burning, the glass of the window shattered, and American pop music was playing loudly over the speakers. Clearly, a raucous party was at hand, and as we settled before the broken window it was clear that all of our recruits were involved.

I heard Charles make a little noise- something like ‘ack’- and I couldn’t say if he had done it out loud or if I had picked up on a pulse from his head, but I almost smiled at him.

“What are you doing?” the agent demanded, stepping forward. “Who destroyed the house?”

“It was Alex,” Hank chirped drunkenly (showing his age despite his incredible inventor’s intellect- and showing that there was copious alcohol at play here).

“No no no, _Havoc,”_ Raven called, stumbling over to the side of the window in her heels and her pretty all-American-girl skin. “We have to call him Havoc now, that’s his name. And, we were thinking-”

With one determined hand she pointed to Charles.

 _“You_ should be Professor X, and-”

The finger turned to me.

 _“-you_ should be _Magneto!”_

An awkward quiet fell over the courtyard, the music having been turned off. I could practically feel Charles stewing next to me, but in truth I was relieved. There could be no better reason fabricated to leave them behind than _this._ And besides, it would be better- safer- if we did not have to take care of our pups while hunting. 

“Exceptional,” I murmured to Charles as I passed him, and I felt a little flare of his annoyance pass across my mind. I presumed it was more directed at them than me. In less than a moment, he was following me, and I began forgetting the matter entirely- I was still keyed up, bloodthirsty, my heart beating as though in preparation for a race. I was planning on a red dawn.

-X-

The plane ride to Russia seemed unbearably long, even though a good deal of it was taken up with the CIA’s mission briefing, describing where we would touch down and what our plan would be to abduct Shaw from the residence of the Soviet Union’s Chief of Defence. It all seemed simple enough, nothing I couldn’t have done, yet the expedition of the process was helpful anyway. As time passed- as we approached our destination- I kept a strict control over my muscles. My legs wanted to jitter, my fists wanted to clench, my lungs wanted to pant for air, but I did not let them. I was familiar with these sensations- I controlled my body the way I controlled metal, smoothening it out, transforming all the energy into a tightly coiled loop that spun around my center of gravity, ready to be released at will. I emptied my mind of stress and unnecessary consideration, clearing it so when the time came there would be nothing but focus, as sharp and hard as steel.

Between my fingers, the Nazi coin rotated. The CIA operatives around me- all dressed in black, sporting face shields and absurdly oversized guns- watched this, discomfited, but I did not care what they thought at all.

When the briefing was over- still, an hour or so until we touched down- Charles came and sat in the seat opposite me. The surrounding chairs were all cleared out, the operatives having retreated from me as far as possible; only Charles was brave enough to sit with the wolf.

“How are you?” he asked me quietly, and I raised one eyebrow.

“You know that already,” I replied, and he gave me a tiny, secretive smile. For a few moments there was quiet between us. Charles looked out the window, the clouds reflected in his eyes, and then slowly he turned to the coin, which still was making its way in careful circles between my fingers. I looked only at him.

“What are you thinking?” I asked. I hadn’t the faintest clue.

“I’m thinking…” he trailed off, rubbing his hands together. It was unfair that he should be given the chance to curate his words. “I’m thinking it might be best to let the CIA take Shaw, instead of...well. There are systems for this sort of thing, and they won’t like it if you just…”

I smiled at him, but said nothing. Quiet returned to the air between us. I felt Charles flickering warmly across the surface of my mind; he wasn’t looking for anything, I didn’t think, he already knew everything anyway. Rather, the sensation reminded me of a hand stroking the back of a savage animal- a soothing gesture. I didn’t mind. I rather liked that he was so worried about me. At this thought, something else occured to me:

“Are you afraid?” I asked, and he looked up at me. I was sure this was the first time he had ever done something of this sort. He had spent his youth in school, not in hiding: he was not a killer like me.

“No,” Charles replied at length. If I had to guess, he seemed rather surprised with himself. “No, actually, I’m a little excited.”

“Show me,” I said, my voice suddenly rough. The coin returned to my palm- I had something else to focus on. The thought that kind, gentle Charles might have a hunting instinct in him- might have a little touch of _viciousness-_ excited me to my core. 

Charles raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly, but he did as I asked- raising one hand to his temple in that ever-familiar gesture.

I felt it, then. A heartbeat, faster than was comfortable, an electric buzzing that danced through veins. Slight breathlessness, as if it were my own, pressed close against my chest. I saw a dream that I had never dreamt, in which a man flew above a snow-covered forest, taking bounds through the air that spanned kilometres. It was a chasing dream. Charles withdrew, and I grinned at him.

“What were you hunting, in your dream?” I asked, immensely pleased by what he had shown me. Charles shrugged.

“I think it was _you…”_ he replied softly. For a moment, he looked like he was searching for something from me, but I felt no presence in my head. “...Magneto.”

“What?”

Now it was Charles’ turn to grin.

“That’s what Raven called you, don’t you remember? I think she was coming up with code names for us.”

“‘Magneto’?” I quoted with some exasperation. “That’s atrocious. We don’t need code names, anyway.”

“Oh no?” Charles murmured. “Well, for the record, I think it suits you.”

“What was yours, again?” I asked, surprised at how light the mood had become. Charles barely needed to do anything to tame me.

“Professor X,” Charles replied, over-pronouncing the last letter so it clicked in the air like the cocking of a pistol. “Much more domestic. Lets you know what she thinks of me.”

“Well, it suits you, too,” I said, and Charles laughed a little. I looked out the window- it wouldn’t be long, now. I was determined that today should go well- that there would be no repeat of that night on the boat. I was better prepared, now. I knew what tricks he had up his sleeve- and he wasn’t the only one with a telepath for a lover, not anymore.

By this time tomorrow, Shaw would be dead, and I would be free.


	12. 14:05/The Ice Queen

The time after touchdown passed in an adrenaline-addled blur. I couldn’t say if it took hours or only minutes; we were packed into the back of a cattle truck and sent off at a jittering pace into the wilderness.

A cattle truck- unpleasant memories, that. At least it was not a train.

The CIA operatives were twitchy with their guns, I could hear them fingering the triggers every time we slowed down, every time a sound was heard from beyond the confines of our little wooden cage. Americans were all the same. I thought this bothered Charles more than it did me, but I didn’t really know what was going on inside his head. He more than proved his worth when we were stopped at the surprise checkpoint- when the men had jumped into shooting positions as the Russian soldiers asked to see in the back of the truck, I had braced myself, expecting the violence to break out early. But Charles, marvellous as he was, had stopped it and sent us on our way with nothing but a moment’s worth of thought. When the door closed on us I patted his leg appreciatively- perhaps a little too high up on his thigh- and I heard him laugh at me in my head. I felt it then- he was still high-strung, just like me, still trembling in preparation for the race that was coming despite his cool facade.

God. When this was over, I wanted to fuck him.

Charles stiffened beside me, and shot me a sharpish look, one eyebrow raised. The men around us were oblivious, all of them panting and stupid, we could do it here and now and they wouldn’t even know.

Charles tutted out loud, but he was blushing, I could see.

That was fine. Afterwards would be better. When Shaw was dead I would be able to give myself over to Charles completely, without any reservations. There could be no better prize for my long-sought victory.

_-dontthinkofitthatway-_

As subtly as I could be bothered to, I took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

The truck made a slow left turn, and settled into a stop. The agents stood, so I did too- our destination was at hand.

We had stopped on a supply road just beyond the property of the Soviet official- the clock was ticking, Shaw would arrive there soon. We made our way through the trees as quietly as we could- it was good our ‘host’ hadn’t thought to place any guards beyond his own front steps- and settled into a reconnaissance position in the tall grass just beyond the front yard of the mansion. Agent MacTaggert, beside me, pulled out a pair of binoculars to- presumably- evaluate the weapons carried by the various men standing about the compound, but I wasn’t worried about that in the slightest.

“Can you hear anything?” I asked Charles. He was focused, I saw, eyes flickering back and forth in search of what no one else could see.

“Not here yet,” he replied. “The guards aren’t expecting anything, most of them are thinking about lunch.”

He grinned at me, and then the smile faded, his eyes gazing past me to something behind his eyes.

“Hold on,” he added, and he turned to look back into the woods from whence we had come. “There’s a car.”

A few moments later ordinary ears were able to pick up on this too, and I watched with the rapt attention of a hound as the trim black limousine made its way through the gates and up to the front step. I could feel everything around me with the hyper-clarity of pure adrenaline, from the itch of the grass against my belly to the smell of the wind and the soft sound of Charles’ breathing next to me.

The limousine came to a standstill before the front door, and from it stepped a woman in white. I recognized her; she had been on the boat the night I had failed. I expected Shaw to follow, but he didn’t- the limousine turned away, pulling up to a parking spot distant from the front door.

“Where’s Shaw?” I growled, my eyes flickering back and forth, as though I could have possibly missed something. Charles put a hand to his temple, sitting up straighter.

“He’s not coming,” he murmured airily after a moment, having discovered this through some means no one else could understand. “So, what now?”

He turned to MacTaggert, not to me, when he said this.

“Now, nothing,” she replied calmly. “We’re here for Shaw; mission aborted.”

Like hell it was. I practically snarled, my blood hot in my veins, and I moved to stand. The woman in white was Shaw’s close companion, and that was good enough for now- there was no way I could allow myself to leave this place empty-handed, and I said so.

“The CIA invading the home of a senior Soviet official? Are you _crazy?”_ MacTaggert hissed, grabbing my arm- the arrogance of it shocked me for a moment. Did she really think she could do anything to stop me? What did she think I was?

“I’m not CIA,” I told her with a vicious smile. A reminder that she clearly needed. I did not belong to her- I had _never_ belonged to her.

I belonged to no one.

I was running. It was easy, so easy, as simple as breathing to dismantle the pathetic forces this Soviet official had considered ‘security’. I wrapped the men standing close to the barbed fence in their own cruel devices, and didn’t care that they screamed. The men who attempted to fire at me- metal bullets, metal guns- stood no chance; in adrenaline-fueled mockery, I kicked one in the face as I ran by. The loop of energy I had constructed in my chest- a tense, ever-winding force- released in steady, controlled flares, turning my anger into a weapon more reliable than any gun. This was what Shaw had trained me to do, and this was what I would use against him.

I was inside the mansion in seconds, and not one of the humans had been able to stop me. 

Once in the foyer I chose a room at random- I saw one door had been left slightly ajar- and only as I approached it did I realize that Charles had followed me, for I heard him panting slightly from behind. I was glad- I tried to send him a thought that showed I acknowledged him there, but there wasn’t time to see if it landed, for he had caught up to me and we pushed open the door together.

Inside was a markedly strange sight. The telepath was sitting in a chair by herself, and she looked up at us as we burst in; the Soviet official, on the other hand, sat on the bed, cooing lecherously and fondling the air before him, as though he felt something there.

“Nice trick,” Charles said to the telepath, and he sounded genuinely appreciative. As he did whatever magic she had employed broke, and the man on the bed startled, fumbling for his gun. I smiled- they were all the same- I would let him fire and then I would curve the bullet back into his head. 

Charles was too quick for me, however:

“Go to sleep,” he said lightly, and the man on the bed collapsed before he had even been able to aim. Now it was my turn to be appreciative- Charles never failed to impress me. He could command the minds of humans like puppets. A god, like I always thought.

The other telepath stood, and her shape changed- something I had not seen before, and it surprised me. She was extraordinary- a woman made from diamond, both the strongest and most feminine of crystals. The way her facets caught in the dim light coming through the window created rainbows that danced across her once-skin; she was nearly blinding. It was rather a pity we were on opposite sides of this conflict.

“You can stop trying to read my mind, sugar,” she said, addressing Charles. I looked over in time to see him actually flinch- recoiling as though he had been stabbed, the sting making itself clear on his features. “...you won’t get anything from me while I’m like this.”

Anger replaced my wonder in an instant- I couldn’t say how, I wasn’t like them, but just then this woman had _hurt_ Charles, sending some sliver of ice into his head that had actually brought him _pain._ My reaction was instantaneous- as she tried to move I brought the brass bedstand to life, snagging her ankles and then her wrists, slamming her ungraciously into the floor- bound and servile.

“So you can just tell us,” I snapped. _“Where’s Shaw?”_

Another strip of metal wrapped around her throat; I didn’t bother to see if she would speak without torture. Why would she? I could tell the gesture had startled her, even like this her eyes were expressive, and hungrily I let the noose grind into her beautiful, glittering neck.

“Erik,” Charles said, but I didn’t hear him. In being with Shaw she was complicit to his crimes. She could have committed plenty herself; I was not so naive as to think that women could not be monsters. This could very well be retribution for someone else’s suffering.

(And besides, she had just hurt something of mine.)

“Erik, that’s enough,” Charles repeated, and I felt him flicker across my mind- a touch I recognized as panic, something that took shape behind my eyes as the image of a railway crossing sign, a great X with rapidly flashing red lights. “Erik-!”

I wasn’t listening. Oh, I wouldn’t kill her like I supposed he feared- not yet, anyway- but I was going to hurt her. I was going to scare her enough that she would give us everything. I tightened the strips of metal further, grinding them into her with vengeance, and watched as cracks began to creep up her neck. 

“Erik, that’s _enough!”_

Was that true fear I saw in her eyes, or did she need more still? Perhaps just a little bit further, a bit _deeper,_ the way Shaw did it, he always allowed for just a little more _pain-_

_**-THATSENOUGH-** _

It was my turn to recoil; for a moment I felt like I had been dunked in ice water, or buffeted by a tremendous wave that had come from nowhere. I stumbled, my grip on the bedstand loosening, and the woman immediately returned to a human form, her body shuddering and her windpipe wheezing as she choked on air.

“All yours,” I said dizzily, what was accidentally a complete truth. I shook myself, clearing spots from my vision and a sudden numbness from my limbs. All of my faculties had been put out of order, and only as I turned to the side table to pour myself a drink (suddenly, I needed one) did they start to return to normal. I saw my hands were trembling- I wondered with no small amount of awe if he had actually stopped the electrical pulses in my brain for a second.

Charles was kneeling before the other telepath, his eyes bright in concentration as he looked into her mind. I watched him- he was beautiful when he worked. Slowly, I saw him begin to turn pale, blood draining from his face to leave him wan. When he let her go, it was with no small amount of horror that he looked back at me.

“This is worse than we previously imagined,” he whispered numbly, and he added to the woman: “We’re taking you with us. The CIA will want to question you themselves.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” she said. Her voice still shook, but she was surprisingly in control, considering what I had done to her. “They have bigger things to worry about right now.”

Charles frowned at her for a moment, and then his eyes widened.

“Shit, Erik-!” he gasped, and I took his arm- could she have hurt him again?- but he shook his head, almost breathless. In his eyes I saw a terrible fear.

“It was a trap,” he hissed. “They tricked us. _He’s gone after the others.”_

This time, Charles was the one who took off running, and I who desperately followed; the implication of this was almost too much for me to bear. The anger that rose hot in my throat was different from before- this time, it was a helpless kind of anger. The anger of humiliation, not revenge.

Shaw had made a fool of me again.


	13. 15:22/Can and Should

It took too long to return from Russia to the CIA’s institute in Washington. By the time we arrived, all the damage had already been done, and Shaw was long gone. 

The facility itself was in ruins- in its center a tremendous explosion had gone off, shredding the concrete structure and leaving deep fire damage. Wherever there had been windows, the glass was shattered, placing subtle traps for the excavators who had arrived in the wake of the disaster. Almost all of the humans who had been manning the institute at the time were dead...and so was one mutant.

The others were all in varying states of shock. Uninjured physically, perhaps, but that was a low bar. The girl who could fly was gone- she had left with Shaw, betraying us. I could imagine how the remainders felt. Shaw had stepped into the bubble of their secure, reasonable American lives and popped it; shattering the belief they had in the sanctity of government and the power of law enforcement. They had probably felt very safe indeed in a building guarded by the CIA- but it was time they learned that the world was not safe. It was not safe, it was not clean, and the authorities were just as feeble and fallible as the rest of this delusional civilization.

(This was not a lesson I had ever had to learn- the world had never been safe for the Jews in Germany.)

I wanted to tell them not to fear. The humans were powerless; we were not human. We were capable of taking our vengeance, if only we put our minds to it. The death of the young man, ‘Darwin’, as Raven called him, was another bloodstain on Shaw’s ledger, another tick in a long line of reasons why he deserved to die. His time was coming, I was sure, as now I was not the only mutant he owed a blood-debt.

Perhaps it was strange, but that night- sitting in my room of the hotel we had been shuttled to, awaiting our departure by plane tomorrow- I felt calm. Shaw had frustrated me again- I had _failed_ again- but in the aftermath of this new violence I did not feel the same wild hunger that had possessed me on our trip to Russia (that had always possessed me before I had met Charles). Something had changed- it seemed I had been convinced at last by Charles’ desire for collaboration, his belief that people worked better together than alone. I had failed twice now, trying to work alone. Perhaps it _was_ time to try working with a team.

I was glad that we (us, the mutants) weren’t going to be kept by the CIA anymore- tomorrow, we were going to Westchester, to Charles’ private property. We were going to train, and make ourselves into an army capable of taking back all that Shaw had stolen from us. With this I was satisfied.

My only worry at the moment was for Charles. I did not know how he was truly feeling, he had kept himself out of my head all day. I found I was rather disquieted by the lack of secret murmurs, the soft touches of his emotions. From the outside, he had handled himself remarkably well- comforting the younger mutants, warding off the American government (save Agent MacTaggert, for some reason), and ensuring everything was settled for our return to his estate.

(Estate! I had almost laughed when he mentioned that. Of course he had an ‘estate’.)

In short, he had been steady and mature, a reassuring presence in the wake of the destruction the others had lived through. But still, I had some doubts. I knew he was not accustomed to death.

Later into the night- once the rest of the group had settled, undoubtedly sleeping- I left my own room in the hotel, padding a few doors down to where Charles had put up. There was a light on inside, as I could see through the hairline crack between the door and the floor; still awake, then. Said door was also locked, but the lock was made of metal, and so I turned the bolt aside without even thinking. 

Inside, Charles was sitting by the little table the hotel provided in their rooms. He was still dressed as well as he had been all day- only his feet were bare. On the table before him there was a bottle of white wine, perhaps a third empty, and a glass with a sip of the same shining in the bottom.

“Hello, Erik,” Charles said, his voice dull. “I locked the door, you know.”

“I know,” I replied, and I sat down beside him in the only other chair. He did not reproach me any further for my intrusion- he watched me for a moment, silent there and silent in my head, before looking back at his wine glass morosely.

“You’re doing the right thing,” I told him, after the quiet had stretched out too long; speaking of the choice to keep the mutants together, to hone their powers, to try and stop Shaw. I meant it. I knew he had been reticent to it at first, and I was pleased I had been able to convince him.

“Am I, Erik?” Charles replied, and when he looked at me now I saw that there was a muted pain in his eyes. “I thought I was doing the right thing, and now...so many people are dead.”

“They were government agents, this was their job,” I said, remembering then that he cared more for the humans than I did. “It’s not your fault they weren’t prepared.”

Charles hummed, seemingly not convinced, and emptied the wine glass. He did not refill it again, frowning like the taste was sour, and he folded his arms across his chest. I noticed that the window in the room was open; he must be cold. I stood and closed it for him.

“Armando would still be alive, if we hadn’t found him,” Charles continued. The look he gave me contained a miserable challenge. “He wasn’t a _‘government agent’._ If we hadn’t gotten into that cab, he wouldn’t have…”

I leaned over Charles and pressed my lips to his forehead to quiet him. Surprisingly, it worked. 

“Shaw killed him,” I said firmly. I knew now what he was feeling- I recognized the kinds of thoughts that were running through his head. I had thought them all before. It was a dangerous path, and it went like this: _oh, if I had been quicker on my feet that night we wouldn’t have been caught by the Nazis, if I had been able to move the coin (such a tiny little thing, practically weightless!) she would not have been shot._ But such thoughts ran a course straight into the black lakes of despair, and their tracks were made of lies. I had already come to terms with the fact that _it was not my fault._ If a bullet kills someone, it is the doing of he who pulled the trigger, not those pitiful bereft who cannot see the future. I knew Charles was listening, so to reinforce this I kissed his lips, as though I could transfer this truth to him as such. His mouth tasted of wine.

“Once the guilt is gone, you’re left with revenge,” Charles murmured sadly against my lips.

“Precisely,” I replied, and I sat back on the bed, taking his hands to guide him there after me. We settled into an easily intimate position, Charles’ head resting on my chest and his arm about my waist, while I wrapped his shoulders in an embrace. There was silence for a long while, and I carded my fingers gently through Charles’ hair, no longer worrying. As always, the way our bodies met was so comfortable, so natural, it felt like we had been designed to be together.

“I don’t know if I have it,” Charles said softly after a while. “That anger of yours. I don’t know if I want ‘revenge’. Even if I did, I don’t know if I would be able to take it.”

“Of course you could,” I said, surprised by this. “God, Charles- I’ve seen what you can do! In Russia, you put that man to sleep like- like _magic._ You can _control people’s minds._ You can make anyone you want do anything at all…”

“That’s not what I meant,” Charles murmured, and he sat up on his elbow to look down at me. There was something a little like horror in his voice. “No, Erik, I…”

“You know how much I admire you,” I continued earnestly. I ran a thumb over his lovely red lips. “You are _so_ powerful. So beautiful. You could rule the world, if you wanted to, and I...I could only hope you’d keep me by your side.”

I leaned in and kissed him then, but he did not return the gesture, and I felt him push me away slightly in my mind. No, not quite- he _asked_ me to move away with the image of a ship leaving harbour, but he did not force me, even though he could have. I rested my head back on the comforter of the bed, confused.

“Just because you can do something,” Charles said, “doesn’t mean you _should._ I…”

He trailed off, and bit his lower lip. I admired how his eyelashes brushed his pale cheeks, how his brow was furrowed with his concern.

“...I know I can do all that,” Charles continued. “And worse. I know I can hurt...I know I can _force_ people. But I don’t want to, Erik, that’s…”

“Why not?” I murmured. “It would suit you so well.”

I had a vision, then- Charles as an avenging angel. He was wearing white, standing at the helm of a ship, and the leaders of the world’s governments knelt before him, bodies bent in submission. He could see all of their sins, blue eyes blazing inside their heads, and they stood no chance of escaping him. At this point, they didn’t even want to. The end of the petty, squabbling human race was at hand- all that remained existed to serve him, and they did so with nothing but joy, for he had made it so. The crown I had given him before was replaced by a fiery halo, a symbol for telepathy and perfection. Wasn’t this also a kind of paradise?

 _“Jesus,_ Erik,” Charles said, and he sat up abruptly, cringing away like he didn’t even want to touch me. The expression on his face was sick. “No. _No._ I will _never_ be like that.”

“What if it was to save our people?” I asked him, now sitting up myself. I reached out and touched his shoulder; he was tense. “To save all those children you saw in Cerebro? What about then?”

“It won’t happen the way you think it will,” Charles insisted. “The world isn’t like that.”

“If you think so, you are blind,” I told him sharply, and he glared at me. I was surprised; I had never seen quite so fierce a look on his face before. It did suit him- I wanted to kiss him again, while he was angry like this, see if he would bite me.

Charles scoffed, and I saw in my head a black rectangle emblazoned with four glowing red letters: EXIT. Another ‘X’, was it? I grinned. 

“Anger can be a strength, Charles,” I said, standing. “Don’t push yours away.”

I felt him watch me as I left the room, his eyes hot on the back of my neck. I locked the door behind me, like I assumed he wanted.

I rather expected him to come to my room later to finish the argument- I knew we were alike in that we both wanted to win it. But he did not do this. I did not feel him in my head at all that night.

-M-

The following morning, I woke before anyone else, and decided to go out into the city to buy Charles a little reconciliatory gift. With the sunlight upon me and the stress of the previous day at a certain distance, I felt rather guilty for upsetting him so. He wasn’t quite ready for the future I had in mind, and that was fine. I was sure he would understand eventually, and until then there was no reason to push him too far.

I didn’t have much experience with romantic relationships. I had never been in love with anyone the way I was in love with Charles. Certainly, I had never wanted to... _appease_ someone in this way. No one’s good graces had ever meant so much to me. My basis for this gesture, then, was half-remembered culture- Shakespeare’s sonnets and _Romantische Oper_ and billboard advertisements in North America. Still, I did it. I wondered if the woman in the shop I visited thought I was silly- well, no, she had probably thought I was in love with a girl.

Around midday everyone was up at the hotel, and were carting their bags into the shuttle to be taken to the airport for the afternoon flight. Charles was with them, and once again his shield of maturity had come up- there was no sign he had been drinking, and he comforted a blonde and teary-eyed Raven before helping her to her seat. I waited in the corner of the lobby, and when he seemed free beckoned to him, leading him around a corner out of sight of the others.

“Good morning, Erik,” Charles said- up close, I saw that he looked tired, but his tone was cordial. “Are you ready for the flight?”

“Yes,” I replied. “And I got you something.”

“What-?” His brow furrowed.

From behind my back I revealed a white rose, its petals open in full bloom. Charles looked at me, startled, and then I think he saw my intentions somewhere behind my eyes because he fell back against the wall beside us with a laugh and a groan, covering his face with his hands.

“Oh my _God,_ Erik,” he said, and despite this I saw he was trying not to smile. “That’s _ridiculous._ What did you do that for?”

“It reminded me of you,” I told him, an honest cliché. “Here, let me…”

Charles sat back as I pinned the flower to the lapel of his jacket, his cheeks turning an endearing strawberry colour.

“You don’t have to ‘make up’ for our disagreeing,” he murmured, watching me.

“We don’t ever have to disagree, if you don’t want us to,” was my reply. What I meant: _since you let me, I will do what pleases me._

(And so will the rest of the world.)

“Don’t talk like that, I’ll get all sour again,” Charles continued in a mock-sullen voice, and he leaned in to peck me on the lips. “But thank you, it’s lovely. Now, we’d best be going, don’t want to miss our flight.”

I followed him back to the shuttle, feeling not unlike a dog who had just been given a bone. As we got in, Sean looked up from his magazine at Charles in surprise-

“Where’d you get that?” he asked, staring obviously at the flower, and Charles tapped his own temple quickly, replying: “Nowhere.”

I smirked to myself. Not entirely incapable of using his powers for selfish ends, then.

By tonight, we would be in Westchester- I was looking forward to seeing his home.


	14. 17:50/First Class

The Xavier mansion was, of course, beautiful. Almost absurdly so. The architecture and layout of the estate was ridiculously English, as though Charles’ family had been going out of their way to bring their heritage with them when they had settled their affairs in New York. No, there was barely any hint of the crass American nouveau-riche here- the place reeked of very, very old money. The fact that Charles barely seemed to notice this- failing to acknowledge the various dropped jaws and mutters of admiration from the other mutants- said something too, but I had already known that about him.

I had to admit, there was a certain utopian quality to the place. Charles had called ahead to the groundskeeper to ensure that the guest rooms and bathrooms were freshly cleaned, the fridge and pantry fully stocked, and the atmosphere controls prepared for human visitation. The fields and woodland of the estate were well-kept, and the air smelled fresh, the only unsightly feature on the horizon was the satellite complex down the road (without which I might have even believed we had been transported to another world- to the castle of a feudal prince, perhaps). Every room was attractively but comfortably decorated, and there were spaces available for what felt like any kind of training- an empty underground bunker, a fully equipped exercise room, a track loop that ran about the house. There was even a laboratory filled with state-of-the-art toys that Hank was clearly eager to play with. It seemed almost like a place that had been dreamt up, rather than built- the eerily perfect school for wayward mutants.

But perhaps that was just the idea that Raven had planted in my head, calling Charles ‘Professor’. This certainly wasn’t a school, and as far as I knew, Charles had never actually held any kind of teaching position in his life.

That being said, he seemed to take to it far better than I ever could. I was surprised at how naturally he stepped into his role in the ‘lessons’- with nothing but a few words he managed to draw new fervour from all of his guests, and he proposed creative ways of getting the best out of everyone. He naturally assumed a role of gentle authority that the others all accepted without question- as though they saw in him some greater wisdom than they believed themselves to possess. I saw it, too- though I wondered how much of it was an illusion. I honestly hadn’t expected it to be so easy for him.

I watched him congratulating Hank on increasing his running speed from inside the mansion. The way he smiled at the younger man was, somehow, entirely joyful, and it wasn’t a selfish joy in the slightest. How truly happy he was to see someone else achieving their goals. I had a disconcerting thought- perhaps I had been misjudging him a little, this entire time. Perhaps the archetype that suited him best was not a benevolent king or an avenging angel, but simply a schoolteacher.

(And how in the world had I ended up in love with a _schoolteacher?)_

The days became busy and passed quickly. We heard no news of Shaw or any other likely disruption from MacTaggert, and consequently had no reason to leave.

Whenever I had a chance to be alone with Charles, I became too eager, hungry to mop up his attention like a student with a crush. Perhaps I was a little jealous of it- of how well he got along with the others, how absorbed he was by his work. Before this, we had been in _my_ territory- the lone dog’s life, traveling from place to place, hunting people down. I was the one out of my depth, now. I found I wanted to please him in the same way he had pleased me, by rising to his challenges.

(And by stealing his breath with reckless kisses in the corridors, whenever no one was looking.)

“No! No, I can’t!” Charles said to me during our lesson (one I had asked for), lowering the gun I had given him (smuggled from the CIA). “I’m sorry, I can’t shoot anybody point blank, let alone my- my _boyfriend.”_

I grinned at him as he blushed, shuffling back and forth on my feet. I was loving this. Admittedly, the sight of his dynamic aiming stance- a little too much like the hero from a spy film- was exciting to me. I found I was in an almost absurdly good mood. I wanted to play with him.

“Oh, come on, you know I can deflect it,” I replied, snatching the end of the pistol and lifting it to my forehead again. Charles winced- it was sweet that this made him so uncomfortable- and only pulled it away once more.

“If you know you can deflect it, then you’re _not_ challenging yourself,” he continued, a hint of a pout on his face. “Come on, why don’t you try...hmm…”

He looked around us for a moment- I was tempted to say, ‘your belt buckle’- and then inspiration struck him, his face lighting up in a way that, momentarily, took my breath from my lungs.

 _“That,”_ he said triumphantly, pointing out across the estate. “Try turning it to face us.”

For a moment, I did not know what he meant, and once I did I gaped at him.

“The satellite?” I said disbelievingly. With a look I could guess the weight of the thing from here- indeed, I could almost _feel_ the weight, in the same way I could ‘almost feel’ all of the metal objects around me. I had never tried to move anything so heavy before- at least, not with any deliberation. It was not the kind of thing I had ever really thought about doing intentionally- it seemed like an act beyond the bounds of nature.

“What happened to the man who tried to raise a submarine?” Charles asked cheekily, no doubt having picked up on every disquieted thought in my head.

“I’m not in the right mood,” I offered, adding internally: _you’re not putting me in the right mood._ “For something like that I’d need the anger.”

“I don’t think so,” Charles said lightly, though there was a hint of seriousness in his voice now. “Anger isn’t the only source of strength. It isn’t even the best. You think it’s what has saved you, all this time- but I think it’s nearly gotten you killed.”

I looked over at him- I hadn’t been expecting him to say something like that. He smirked at me, turning his head like a cat, and with a rush I knew he was baiting me.

Too fucking cute.

“Alright,” I growled, and I walked over to the marble railing we stood beside, shaking my hands a few times and taking a deep breath. Charles followed me, and I felt his eyes on my back, a warm focus against the nape of my neck.

“Alright,” I said again, and I lifted my hands. It took a second or two longer than normal before I reached the thing, it was so far away. Once I did the pressure of trying to move it was almost overwhelming. There was too much to hold on to, too much weight, and even as I began to pull it didn’t feel like I had a firm grip on the thing. For an aching moment there was nothing, no reaction at all- without letting go I inhaled again, filling my lungs to capacity and then holding the air there, keeping my chest full. Harder. I pulled in, my fingers curling around empty space as if to grip the smooth sides of the satellite dish. It was like trying to drag a truck with the strength of my physical muscles only- my vision blurred, white spots appearing across it, and distantly I heard the creaking sound of metal being shifted in place, but that was all. The pain in my lungs from holding my breath became too much, and I could practically feel the marrow of my bones quivering, the mass of the satellite dragging me away from myself. 

I gave up and released it, stumbling backward a few paces and gasping for air. I was covered in sweat and the muscles in my arms vaguely hurt, though this subsided after I shook them a few times.

I looked warily over at Charles, annoyed and embarrassed by my failure- I expected him to be displeased by my inadequacy, but he smiled at me.

“Very good, Erik!” he chirped. “I heard it move, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t turn it,” I said dully, and he shrugged, trotting over to where I stood.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to on the first try,” he replied, and he patted me firmly on the shoulder. “This is something to work towards. What’s important is that you tried your best, even though you didn’t think you could do it.”

I stared at him, still out of breath. I was dizzy from the effort, and I didn’t entirely understand what he was saying.

“Now, I promised Alex I would find some more targets for him,” Charles continued, seeming not to notice my unease, and he looked leerily down at the gun he was still holding. “But first, I am going to put _this_ away. I’m scared it’s going to go off on me.”

He walked away briskly, and with a lighthearted wave called over his shoulder:

“Keep working on the satellite! Challenge yourself!”

...like this he left me there, stupefied.

It took me several minutes, each one spent stretching and catching my breath, before I realized what had affected me so strangely about that interaction. Something about it had been very different from what I was accustomed to, and that fact reverberated around in my mind until I managed to examine it closely. Once I did, I found I was shocked.

I had never been complimented for a failure before. 

The only other instructor of my powers had responded to failure with punishment. Yes, learning new skills had always come with incredible amounts of _punishment._ I was familiar with a wide variety of them, too- the torture of my body (needles, fists, knives, blood dripping from my lip), the isolation of my mind (a room underground, no light, no food, no water)...and the murder of my loved ones.

_(“I will count to three-”)_

I shook my head to banish the memory, looking up to the cloud-dotted sky. The sun was just beginning to set, but it would be hours before night yet. I took several deep breaths of the sweet-smelling air. I was not there anymore- I was in what was probably the most peaceful place on earth.

Suddenly, a thought shot across my mind, one that did not belong to me:

_-donttrytooharddonthurtyourself-_

I laughed and looked back at the mansion, but I did not see him. Suddenly, I noticed my eyes were hot- somehow I had ended up on the verge of tears. This kind of thing wasn’t like me, so I held them back, feeling too exposed to cry under the vast expanse of the sky. 

The two most important men in my life couldn’t be any more different.

I turned back to the satellite and eyed it like it was a bull to my matador; I wanted to beat this thing for him. I wanted to become what he believed I could.

I raised my hands and, without any feeling of humiliation or pain, tried again.


	15. 19:15/Good Morning, Erik

More time passed. The days seemed to blend together, a comfortable wash of sweet-smelling air and sweat under my tracksuit and hours spent talking over meals. I doubted I had ever spent so much time in one place. I was enveloped in the bubble of Charles’ life, and Charles’ way of doing things, and only very early in the morning would this bother me- when waking up alone those same, familiar thoughts would drift across my head: _you’re wasting your time, he’s still out there, you’ve gotten soft._

The moment I saw Charles this voice quieted. I wondered if it was his face that did that to me, or his mind.

The other mutants all made progress with their lessons. Sean learned to fly (I congratulated myself a little for that one), Alex learned to aim, and Hank finally learned the limits of his physicality. Raven had always been skilled- no, her problems had nothing to do with her powers. I was the only student who hadn’t completed my task- though I tried every day, I had yet to turn the satellite. I had imagined initially that the act would be like physical weightlifting- that after a time the ‘muscle’ of my control would grow stronger, as long as I kept pushing. But this growth did not seem to occur. Every time I tried, it felt like something was missing, but I did not know what. I managed not to let it bother me too much.

Agent MacTaggert hung around, keeping us connected to the CIA and the world’s happenings at the same time- and this _did_ bother me. I understood her usefulness, without her help it would be much more difficult to spot a re-emergence of Shaw, and in another life I would have no reason to dislike her- she was capable, level-headed, and not stuck too tightly in a rule-keeping bureaucratic mindset. I didn’t doubt her strength, having managed to make her way to an influential position in the CIA as a woman, and a beautiful one at that.

But we had one too many interests in common, I thought.

One morning I returned early from a run around the Xavier property- I usually stopped by the satellite in the hope that the pumping of my blood would increase my strength, but this morning the rising sun had been too bright for it. I slipped inside the mansion, assuming I was the only one yet out of bed- breakfast would be served in an hour, after all. When I passed by the lounge, the crackling sound of the television inside corrected this assumption.

Curious, I opened the door- the television itself was clearly playing a broadcast of the world news, and sitting together on the couch before it were Charles and MacTaggert.

Charles turned back as I entered, likely hearing my thoughts more so than my footsteps, as the agent beside him startled when he chirped:

“Good morning, Erik! Did you sleep well?”

My only response to that was a non-committal growl, unable to stop myself from seeing how, when his body bent, Charles’ knee brushed the hem of MacTaggert’s skirt. 

“Come and sit,” Charles continued, and he patted the spot on the couch on his free side. I took it- I hadn’t been planning to, and I wouldn’t have normally, I was dressed only in a tracksuit and covered in sweat, my intentions having been to return to my rooms to shower. But no, I found I did not want to leave Charles and the woman alone just now. Did they always do this, wake early and watch the news together? They certainly could have, I wouldn’t have noticed- what a terrible thought.

I realized Charles was smirking at me slightly, but when I turned to him he looked back at the television, putting on an expression of perfect innocence. My annoyance mounted, but I did the same. The world news was only what could be expected- increasing tension and war-mongering from both the United States and the Soviet Union, and fearful murmurs from the rest of the world about what that might mean. There had been a deadly earthquake in Tasmania. I considered this for a moment, and ultimately concluded that Shaw probably hadn’t been responsible. MacTaggert sighed, seeming to agree.

“It’s only getting worse out there,” she said, leaning forward to steeple her fingers at her lips. Of course, she was gorgeous- intentionally or not, she could make use of ‘equipment’ her government hadn’t given her. “And our friend is certainly keeping his cards close to his chest.”

“I’m sure it’ll all be worked out,” Charles told her, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re only the CIA, after all.”

MacTaggert smiled at him gracefully, every inch a supermodel, and stood, pulling the hem of her skirt (black, fitted, business-like) back down over her thighs.

“Well, I need to make some calls,” she said mildly- I wondered if she had even noticed what she’d done. “I’ll see you both at breakfast.”

As she left she returned Charles’ gesture, her fingers trailing lightly over the cashmere on his shoulder, and as he watched her go she flicked her lovely brown hair over her shoulder. Once she was gone there was quiet in the room; Charles had turned off the television.

“What was that?” I growled, and Charles looked back at me, raising one eyebrow in seemingly deliberate surprise.

“What was what?” he replied sweetly, and so incensed by all this was I that I grabbed his chin and dragged him into a vicious, searing kiss. Charles moaned- this time he really _did_ sound surprised- and I bit his lower lip.

_Mine._

I heard him laughing inside my head.

With another surge of indignation I swung my body over his, pressing one knee between his thighs and pushing his shoulders back into the couch. He gasped, laughing again but now out loud, and helplessly I drew back to look at him, my thumbs stroking his pale cheeks. 

“Jealous, are you, Erik?” he purred. “There’s no reason to be.”

And _damn_ him, he had such a frightful control over me. I knew how this looked- I was a beast, hungry and sweat-soaked and _low_ in comparison to him, he who was so sophisticated and controlled and _comfortable_. I was already hard. It wasn’t fair in the slightest.

“No? She’s very pretty,” I replied, lifting my knee up lightly into his crotch to watch his white teeth sink into his lip, his pupils begin to expand into the blue. “And you like women too, don’t you?”

He seemed startled by that, jerking back against the couch, and I was given a flurry of telepathic sound in response- a flash of some jumbled mess, neither particular words nor clear images, a far cry from the cleanliness I had come to expect of him. I did not even know exactly what he meant by it, the message was too confused- or perhaps too unsure of itself. From what I could pick out, what he seemed to say was this: _‘I try’,_ or _‘not the same’,_ or maybe simply _‘no’,_ and underneath that something else again- _‘a lie’._

I leaned back slightly- now I was the one who was surprised- and in turn Charles’ brow furrowed in irritation, pulling me back down to another kiss, as hot and wanton as the first.

_-nevermind-_

I hesitated, but only briefly, obediently slipping a hand up under his sweater and nipping the soft skin on his jaw. I heard him whimper faintly, his head rolling back to expose more of that delicate white throat, and with desperation I set about sucking a mark into it, just above the jugular- if he didn’t like that, he could stop me, or he could hide it from anyone who looked at him with not but the smallest expenditure of his powers. I didn’t care. It would still be there, proof that I was the only one allowed to kiss him, to pull those lovely little sounds from his mouth.

“We- _ah-_ we can’t in here,” Charles eventually managed, when with a sharp jerk of my powers I undid the buckle of his belt and the zipper beneath. Despite this, he didn’t push me away- one hand had settled on my hip, massaging lightly there, and the other was loose at his side, palm turned up. He looked like he would let me do anything to him.

“Yes we can,” I said, and with a telekinetic tug pulled his pants down about his thighs. Charles flushed, the red reaching almost up into his temples. He grinned at me, his eyes lazy and full of mischief, his throat working under his white skin. The spot I had been worrying was already starting to bruise.

Impossible. He was practically egging me on- little _minx._

“You’re _terrible,”_ Charles sighed languidly, and his hand slid down to my thigh, squeezing my ass impertinently in the process. “What are you planning- oh.”

I slipped from his lap, kneeling on the carpeted floor before him and spreading his knees with my palms. As it turned out, it was possible for his face to become even redder than it had been already. 

“Well, alright,” Charles continued, and he placed one hand on my head, fingertips rubbing through my hair to scrape lightly at my scalp. “But if anyone comes in, we’ll have to pretend you aren’t there.”

To signify what he meant he tapped his temple with his free hand and, entirely wordless from the implication of this, I groaned. There was no stopping me now. In a rush I freed him from his briefs- as always, his cock was so very pretty- and took him into my mouth, relishing the way his hips rolled gently forward to meet me, the way his breath caught in his throat. Perhaps it would look obscene to an outsider, but like this I felt very close to him, my arms caressing his thighs and waist and my nose pressed into the soft hair at his base that smelled so very sweetly like him. The possessive anger I had felt before melted away completely under his soft touches against my skull- both inside and out, physical and not. How lovingly he held my head as I did this to him _(for_ him), like it contained the most precious thing in the world. I looked up at his face- admiring how deep I had made the pink of his cheeks- and he gasped, hips jerking up against me.

_-sorry-_

I chuckled, and the sound caused him to react even further, his thighs squeezing about my shoulders and his head rolling back against the couch. There was a point in sex where Charles gave up on expressing himself out loud, and it seemed I had reached it, for in my head I was the recipient of dozens of half-formed expressions- murmurs of pleasure and of love, and of course the expected explosion of his sensations fired directly into the center of my brain. It was always nice to know that I was doing a good job.

_-wait-_

Charles froze suddenly, so I did too- then I heard it, footsteps approaching from outside the lounge. They weren’t high-heeled, so I assumed it was one of the boys. Charles’ eyes were very wide, head tipped back to listen to whoever was coming- but there could be none of that. I was the center of his attention, now, that much had been agreed upon.

Ignoring the tension in his body I swallowed him down completely, reveling in the shocked look he gave me, the silent moan that parted his lips. The person outside did not open the door on our tryst- no doubt he had already sent them away, or perhaps they had only been passing by in the first place. Good. Charles was starting to shiver against me now- a sure precursor to an orgasm- and his eyes had gone hazy, no longer embarrassed to look back into mine. I wondered if he would even look _through_ my eyes now- see just how beautiful he was like this.

Charles was silent when he came- at least, silent to the air. He was awfully loud in my head- blistering images of lightning striking a tree, an underwater volcano erupting, a sun turning supernova, and a huge, reverberating echo of my name.

_**-ERIK-** _

I gave him a moment before pulling away, easily swallowing his spend and watching his chest rise and fall. Slowly, his trembling legs relaxed, slipping off my shoulders, and his breath came back under control. I stood and patted his head- it was absurd, but he practically _purred,_ turning his head into my touch like a pet. Lust-dark eyes cracked open and peered up at me, lingering around my own still-excited midriff.

“Think I can return the favour?” he murmured, his pink tongue slipping out over his lower lip.

“I have to take a shower,” I told him plainly, as much a challenge as what he had said. Charles made a little ‘hmph’ sound, and he sat up, sorting his clothes back into the image of propriety.

“Well, I could use one now, too,” he replied.

I held out my hand and helped him to his feet; like this, our fingers entwined, a form of intimacy between us just as easy as everything else.


	16. 21:03/Accept Myself

One night, when I returned to my own room after a long day of training, Raven was waiting for me. 

Waiting for me, completely naked, and _in my bed._

“Well, this is a surprise,” I said flatly- a statement both true and not. I had thought she was taking a certain interest in me, but I certainly had _not_ assumed she was confident enough for _this-_ though in a sense, she wasn’t. She was still blonde.

“The nice kind?” she chirped, the perfect picture of an adorable, all-American sex kitten. All I felt was vaguely exasperated; I was exhausted from my efforts that day (from spending hours by myself after Charles had gone off to take care of the others, trying and failing to move that damn satellite). My muscles ached, and my eyes hurt from being kept open. Even if it had been Charles curled up there, cute and horny for me, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to anything more than an embrace.

So, “Get out, Raven. I want to go to bed. Maybe in a few years.” was what I told her. I hoped she would understand that last part- Charles patronized her, I had noticed that, but in some ways he was right. She really was almost intolerably young. Certainly, far too young for me. Hank, though insecure, was still the better option.

I heard a flickering, feather-like sound from behind me as I poured myself a glass of water; the sound her scales made when shapeshifting. I looked back.

“How about now?” she asked me, a bid at seductive; now her appearance was older, sultrier, even the makeup she had put on her face looked like something from a ‘mature women’ porn catalogue. The fact that she had tried this only further exposed how very naive she was. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“I prefer the real Raven,” I said mildly. Still smiling at me in that put-on, earnest way, she rippled back to her usual human skin, turning her head in an attempt to portray careless flirtation. I would give her this- she _was_ persistent. But she hadn’t understood what I had said at all.

“I said, the _real_ Raven,” I repeated, my voice closer to a growl. Now, finally, that silly smile faded from her face- she gave me a vaguely worried look, the first genuine expression she had worn since she had arrived. I raised an eyebrow at her pointedly. Then, finally, she began to change again- slowly this time, achingly slowly, as though it was difficult for her to return her features to their natural form on purpose. What damage she had done to herself, if it were so.

“Perfection,” I murmured when she was done, sitting down on the bed beside her. She really was beautiful like this. What she saw as the ideal- what her society had deemed the ideal- was a hollow, plastic kind of thing, tan skin and perfectly styled hair and a vapid smile. On her, it was the worst kind of lie. Her true face was extraordinary, just like Shaw’s diamond queen- wild and elegant and powerful. Her shame marred her far more than any number of those graceful blue scales ever could.

“Could you pass me my robe?” she mumbled, cowed at last. I obliged, standing again- it was draped over the back of my armchair- and tossed it to her. As I did, however, I spoke-

“You don’t have to hide,” I said plainly. I wasn’t a natural teacher like Charles, but maybe she could learn something from this. “Have you ever looked at a tiger and thought you ought to cover it up?”

“No, but…” Raven sat up a bit, clutching the white bathrobe to her chest to hide her breasts. She did not quite meet my eyes- not convinced yet, then. Hmm. It seemed I was always disagreeing with members of this family.

“You’re an exquisite creature, Raven,” I told her honestly, sitting back on the bed so her face was level with mine, trying to make this message sink in. “All your life the world has tried to tame you. It’s time for you to be free.”

She looked at me, silent, a new light glittering in her intense yellow eyes. A new hope, maybe. I wondered if she finally saw what I saw- what the rest of the world should have already seen. She blinked once, twice, taking a deep breath- I saw a swell of emotions flood her features, and then she leaned forward, her head turning to meet my lips in a kiss.

Well, it was a romantic moment, I supposed- I couldn’t blame her for that. But I held up a hand before she could reach me, leaning slightly away.

“Still,” I said lightly. “I’m too old for you.”

She paused, biting her lower lip. Her brow was furrowed, an expression of concentration suddenly blazing on her face as she searched mine. The initial flicker of hurt in her eyes at my rejection had quickly been replaced with something else. Realization, maybe? Or was it _alarm?_

“Is there something going on between you and Charles?” she said suddenly, the words passing her lips in a rush. I paused, considering how I should answer her, and then ultimately didn’t answer at all, simply lifting my hands, palms open. A challenge.

_And if there is?_

“Oh my _God,”_ Raven said, and this like nothing else launched her from the bed, as though she suddenly couldn’t stand to be so close to me. “But he’s not- he’s not _like that._ He’s never- and _you? You_ don’t look like…”

“Like what?” I asked, and now my tone of voice contained an edge. I couldn’t read her mind, couldn’t say exactly what she was imagining- but I could certainly make an educated guess. She put on her robe in a rush, folding her arms across her chest in consternation.

“I was starting to wonder,” she said shakily. “The way you two _look_ at each other- _Jesus._ And you’re always going off on your own. But I...I thought…”

There was silence for a moment, and I watched her calmly, even if I couldn’t tell what conclusions she was reaching. What exactly had she thought? That ‘those kinds of men’ didn’t look like me, or act like me, or like her brother? Perhaps, that I had been falling in love with _her?_

(And Charles thought _I_ was arrogant.)

“I should have told you before,” I said after a while, forcing her to look at me again. “After all, you are essentially his only family.”

“Told me _what?”_ she asked, her voice breaking slightly in pitch on the last word.

“That I’m in love with him,” I replied simply. For a moment she gaped at me, and then she shook her head in disbelief.

“Does- does _he_ know that?” she asked, and I actually chuckled.

“Oh, Raven,” I said in pitying disbelief. _“Of course_ he knows that.”

Her mouth shut with a clicking sound, her teeth coming together too fast. We watched each other for a while, and I didn’t doubt we both felt like we were standing off against a wild animal, crouched and ready to spring. Slowly, Raven’s posture straightened, taking on a kind of righteous deliberation, her arms still folded across her chest. I took a sip of my water and frowned at her, thinking- I supposed I should have expected this. Charles was the opposite of ‘open’ about such things.

“You know, of course,” I said, breaking the silence before she could, “that humans see you as a monster, the way you are now.”

She started as I said this, obviously hurt, and I held up a hand to stop her from interrupting- or shapeshifting.

“And they are _wrong,”_ I continued emphatically. “They are wrong about _all of us._ The things they call us- monsters, freaks, _deviants-_ those are _their_ words. We don’t have to live by their rules. Do you understand, Raven?”

There was quiet for a long moment. I didn’t need telepathy to see the gears turning in her head- to see how, slowly, her posture relaxed, not caring if the robe fell away to expose more of her scaled blue breasts and torso. Her neck straightened, head held high- but this time in a new kind of confidence, rather than retaliation.

“I think I do,” she said softly. “Yes, I think I do.”

I sat back on the bed, pleased with myself, and took another sip of my water.

“But,” Raven continued, “it’s a lot. To process, I mean. I’m going to go now.”

“Alright,” I said. “Goodnight, Raven.”

“Goodnight,” she replied, and then she was gone. I did not hear the sound of her shapeshifting- perhaps she was choosing to stay herself. It would be nice, if that were the case.

I undressed and, upon turning off my lamp, fell into a dreamless sleep almost immediately.

-X-

The next morning training resumed, but the day became uncomfortably hot rather quickly, due to a lack of currents in the air. We decided to break for a few hours after lunch to avoid the worst of it and, in Charles’ words, to give everyone a chance to unwind. The mansion’s residents all went their separate ways, more or less: I joined Charles on the patio around the mansion’s western face, which at this time was comfortably warmed by the sun. There was a chess set there, but Charles didn’t seem to be interested in it, sitting closer to the marble railing and looking out across the grass.

“I had an interesting conversation with Raven last night,” he told me as I sat down beside him. “In the kitchen. Nude. Well, she was nude, I mean.”

I snorted in spite of myself, and Charles gave me a decidedly petulant look.

“She had a lot to say,” he continued. “And I know not all of those ideas were hers.”

“I spoke to her last night as well,” I admitted (as though he didn’t already know). “And she’s old enough to change her mind on something, if she wants to.”

Charles hummed, and I thought he sounded on the edge of ‘displeased’.

“You certainly changed her mind quite a lot,” he said. “And only in one night- truth be told, Erik, I’m a little jealous.”

I laughed again, and patted him on the back to reassure him. The edges of his lips curled up, but it was not a complete smile. Well, I wasn’t surprised.

“That’s not all it is, though, right?” I asked. “She said something you didn’t like.”

There was a long pause in which Charles seemed to be studying me very closely- I felt him flickering around in my head, a touch as gentle as always, and I did not reproach him. I had a feeling I knew what he was looking for. Eventually, Charles sighed.

“You know, Erik, for all official purposes it is a _disease,”_ he said flatly. “All the research points to- to childhood _trauma_ and _brain defects._ And if anyone has had a difficult childhood, it’s you, and if anyone has differences in brain chemistry, it’s _me._ So honestly, it makes a lot of sense that-”

__

“A ‘disease’?” I echoed sharply. I almost couldn’t believe he had said that. “So what- what about the mutant gene? They will say the same thing about that, will they not? What’s the difference?” 

__

“I couldn’t _find_ it, that’s the _difference!”_ Charles suddenly snapped, his voice harsher than I had ever heard it. He must have felt my shock because immediately he went quiet, looking away from me. “I’m sorry, Erik. I didn’t mean to shout.” 

__

“Couldn’t find what?” I asked him, trying to sound gentle. He sighed. 

__

“I didn’t get into genetics only to look for the mutant gene,” he murmured. “I was also looking for an _explanation_...for the way I _felt_ about...well.” 

__

I did not say anything to this, letting him think. Letting myself think. I hadn’t known this about him. After a moment he took a deep breath, eyelashes fluttering, and I saw he had hooked his fingers into knots in his lap with his anxiety. 

__

“I was like you. I wasn’t convinced that it was a sickness, or a- a ‘chosen perversion’. I thought if I could find a _genetic_ explanation- something as concrete and unchangeable as that- then it would somehow be...acceptable. That maybe things could become better for- for men and women like me. That I could accept _myse-”_

__

His voice broke on this last word, and he fell deathly silent. His eyes were overbright and reddened, but he didn’t let any tears fall. I myself felt paralyzed, like he had used his magic to keep me in place, but I doubted this was the case. The sight of him like this was transfixing enough. 

__

“Well, I didn’t find it,” Charles muttered at last, looking resentfully back at me. “There is no _homosexual gene,_ Erik. So where does that leave us?” 

__

“I don’t believe it’s wrong,” I said, and Charles rolled his eyes, turning away from me. “No- _Charles!_ I don’t care what the ‘research’ says. Does it _feel_ like a disease? Where is the damage if it is? This isn’t a perversion, Charles, I fucking _love you.”_

__

I had stood without intending to, my hands formed into fists at my side. Charles’ tearful eyes flicked past my shoulder, and I realized I had lifted the iron sundial in the middle of the patio on instinct. Slowly, I put it back down, taking a deep breath to recompose myself. 

__

“Do you want to stop?” I asked him plainly. “Do you not want this anymore?” 

__

“No,” Charles said pleadingly, and he stood, taking my hands in his. “No, I don’t want to stop. I’ve never felt about _anyone_ the way I feel about you. It’s like- what you’re always thinking, that we’re meant to be together. I can’t believe I found you, Erik. You make me so, _so_ happy.” 

__

Then he closed his eyes, and a single tear fell from each one, their trails down his face forming in eerie, perfect symmetry. Then he said the worst thing he could possibly have said, in that moment. 

__

_“But…”_

__

I looked down at our joined hands. I felt like we should be wearing rings- but that was what he said was impossible. 

__

“We can’t make it public,” he continued distantly. “It would delegitimize the mutant cause completely. No one would take us seriously. And I know how you feel, but- surely it’s not so bad. It would be just like now. I- Erik?” 

__

“And how long would it go on?” I said bitterly. My voice sounded cold; I didn’t think I had intended it to. “How far? It’s such a dirty secret, you’d have to protect it well. At what point would you need a wife? Agent MacTaggert would do nicely, wouldn’t she- after all, she _likes_ you.” 

__

Charles recoiled like I had stung him. The betrayed look in his eyes almost made me relent- but I was not the type to relent. 

__

“And I could marry Raven,” I continued spitefully. “As brothers in law, it makes sense we would be _close.”_

__

I wanted him to deny this- to spit at such an image of the future in disgust, to renounce it, and swear it would never happen. But he just looked at me, wide-eyed and miserable, and I realized he wouldn’t. 

__

“We're at an impasse,” I said. Charles, still, said nothing. 

__

I turned away and left the garden without another word. 

__


	17. 23:30/The Options

I raised my hands; pulling, aching, feeling the drag from my shoulder blades all the way down to the tips of my fingers. My teeth ground so tightly together my jaw had begun to ache. My body was already drenched in sweat from all the previous attempts, and my breath had been held for so long now that my vision had begun to fade, turning black in the middle and staticky gray around the sides. I was in pain from it, now, this task had made me weak, and I had tried being pissed off- raging at it, reminding myself of all the worst injustices I had faced and how their perpetrators had gotten away, of how the world was inherently unfair and mankind bigoted and cruel. I had worked myself into a lather of hate so bright my blood burned, but now that feeling had faded. I had worn myself out on rage, and on calculation, and on pure willpower.

The satellite only creaked.

“You’re still trying,” he said from behind me. I hadn’t heard him approach. I released my grip on the satellite completely and tried to catch my breath, wiping away the cold sweat on my upper lip. Only after I was composed enough to speak did I look back at him.

Charles looked fragile, I thought. He was dressed in one too many layers, for the evening was not cold. His cheeks were pale and his eyes glassy, rimmed with a very faint pink. A vision, as always, of course.

I looked around him, back at the house- but we were alone. It had been some time since we had spoken alone- an entire night had passed not in each other’s company, and Charles had not reached out to me in my head. We had both found reasons to be away from each other, or to be in large groups. That much had been very easy for Charles, given his role with the others- I wondered if they had noticed anything amiss.

“I am,” I replied, and the breadth of my exhaustion made itself clear in my voice, even though I hadn’t intended it to. “I will.”

“You know,” Charles murmured, and he took a step closer to me. “I believe that true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity. Would...would you mind if I-?”

He held up his fingers, a proposal, and I wondered if that was the first time he had actually _asked._ Still, with no trepidation I nodded, opening my mind to let him in.

That familiar, warm touch was so welcome I almost melted. I had...started to worry. Perhaps I should still be worrying. Perhaps I shouldn’t let him into my head so willingly, when he could take or change anything he wanted- but from what I knew of him, I did not think he would.

I felt something that could only possibly be described as a telepathic kiss, a flicker of heat and gentleness and affection. The next breath I took was shaky. Charles did not say anything to me then- I felt him moving in deeper, settling into the cracks of my brain, shifting through synapses and neurons with care as though I was a treasure, something beloved and deserving of the utmost respect and attention. His reach extended further than I had ever felt it before, closer to me, further than I had even thought he could go. I did not think anyone had handled me with such care before. Though no, of course there had been one other-

A vision appeared before my eyes.

The mansion was gone- it had never existed- no, it did not exist yet. My body was small and soft, for a moment this surprised me, and then it didn’t. I was thirteen years old. I was sitting on a wooden chair and I felt the rim of the seat press into my thighs. I knew this chair- the feel of it was the most familiar thing in the world. The warm air around me held the smell of the old floorboards, of plain soap, of my mother’s kitchen. This all was the smell of _home._

My mother was there before me, the anxiety-weathered lines of her face softened by the lights of the menorah. A secret practice, held for us in utmost silence- but not in solemnity. She lit the seventh candle and set the shamash back where it belonged before turning to look at me, and she smiled. I smiled back. I saw an unmatchable love in her eyes, and I felt very safe. The candles flickered between us, the wax on the first turning clear and running down, catching on the lip of the stick. My belly was full, I was warm, I had no wounds to cause me pain- today had been a good day. I was completely at peace. 

For a long while, we simply watched each other and the fires, content to be without moving, without seeking more. Just then, everything was exactly as it was supposed to be, and all was right in the world.

…

I came back to the mansion in pieces- the memory faded, and I realized that it was a memory, and that it had been so long since then that everything had been irreversibly changed. My mother was dead, and I had become a man, and I stood now in the green pastures of long-distant America, which she had never seen. But the pain I had felt before did not return. Something had quieted inside me for the first time in many, many years.

“What did you do to me?” I asked Charles when I knew myself well enough again to do so. I saw him wipe away a tear before he answered.

“I accessed the brightest corner of your memory system,” he said. ‘Bright’- it was amazing he could see things like that. “It’s a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you.”

“I didn’t know I still had that,” I said quietly. Both the memory, and the feeling that had settled inside me. 

“There’s so much more to you than you know,” Charles replied wistfully, and he took a few steps closer to me, reaching out to take my hand where it had fallen by my side. I shook my head. How could such a thing be true- I knew myself very well. At the forefront of my mind were memories of violence- Shaw peering at me from outside the cage, my own bloody fingers, my mother’s body on the floor. My knife in the gut of another man, a bullet twisted to fly through a skull, a wall of clues connected by red thread: a killing machine. 

_-notjustpainandanger-_

Without my intending them to, the memories before my eyes changed in quality. I saw in flashes inconsequential little actions I had long forgotten- embracing a trembling older woman at a meeting for Holocaust survivors, leaving money on the kitchen table for the poor American girl I had slept with, stopping a car with my powers before its driver ran thoughtlessly over a little boy whose ball had bounced into the street. These sights startled me. I did not know where he had pulled them from.

_-good-_

Then, something else- I saw _myself._ I was soaking wet and wrapped in a ridiculous orange blanket, my eyes wide and full of rapture. I was laughing at something, but somehow I looked _shy,_ my face red in a way I had never seen it. I was on a plane, staring out the window with an expression of intense focus turning my eyes to steel. I was asleep, shirtless and buried deep into the comforters, and even here my brow was furrowed, as though concentrating on my dreams.

...I knew what I was seeing, then. These now were not _my_ memories, but instead Charles’ memories of me, and each one was coloured with a complete, honest love. 

“Come on, then,” Charles said to me as he left my head, giving my hand a little squeeze. “Try again?”

It was hard to turn away from him- his little smile, his brilliant blue eyes, the freckles on his nose- after seeing all of that, but when I looked back at the satellite, I realized it did not seem so very great a thing, anymore. It was only an object, after all, weightless in comparison to all I had done and been and seen.

I lifted one hand, the other unable to let go of Charles, and this time I did not need to hold my breath. I felt the bones of the great machine stir under my touch- oh, it seemed so obvious now, I had been doing it all _wrong!_ I had been trying to push and pull at things like a beast of burden, thinking all I had was the bitterness of brute strength, when really what it took was simply for me to _ask-_ ask and let the metal answer, let it come alive.

I felt no pain this time, as the satellite began to turn- it responded to me almost joyfully, like a friend I had long forgotten. The energy came from deeper inside me than I had ever tried to reach- there was an untapped well in my core, something Shaw had never been able to find, for the nature of it was beyond his comprehension. I laughed out loud- in the end, it really was easy. My hand shook, but the effort was under my control, _everything_ was, and the satellite came around a full fifty degrees to face us in moments. 

Charles whooped beside me, and when it was done I embraced him, hiding the wetness of my cheeks on his shoulder. I felt his arms wrap around my back, returning the gesture. His skin smelled sweet, of wildflowers and freshly cut paper. In that moment, and that moment alone, I did not see any reason to ever let him go.

A window on the mansion behind us cracked open, I heard it, and a familiar voice called out:

“The President is about to give his address!” It was Moira MacTaggert, peeking her head out through the curtains; I wondered briefly what she saw in us, before she tucked herself back inside. We broke apart carefully, and Charles patted me on the back. 

“I think it’s going to be important,” he murmured softly. “She knows something she hasn’t told us.”

I nodded, and tried to blink enough to rid my eyes of the heat that had grown up behind them, as though I could hide anything from him.

“We’d better go, then,” I said. “And thank you, Charles.”

_For everything._

Charles smiled at me. I couldn’t help but think he looked rather melancholy- though why I could not say.

“You know, there’s a power in you not even I can match,” he said, and as we walked we held hands- but once at the door to the lounge, his fingers slipped from mine. Without him there, my grasp felt rather empty.

-M-

_“Tomorrow, mankind will know that mutants exist. They'll fear us, and that fear will turn to hatred.”_

_“Not if we stop a war. Not if we risk our lives doing so. There is a place for us in the world, I know it.”_

_“Are you really so naive, as to think that they won't battle their own extinction? Or is it arrogance?”_

_“We have it in us to be the better men!”_

_“You said it yourself- we already are.”_

-X-

That night, after our argument, we made love slowly and carefully. We didn’t speak- there did not seem to be anything left to say. As always, our discussions ended without conclusion, without my being able to budge him an inch- and vice-versa, I supposed. It was strange- I had once thought words were what suited us best, but now I did not want to hear any more of them, and so I kissed his lips to stop any such thing from forming.

The pleasure of the act was equal to the ache. I tried to touch him everywhere, to drink him in, to hold him close enough that there was no way for him to slip away- and in every act he was the same, his fingers running through my hair and over my shoulder blades, his heels trailing up the backs of my thighs. I didn’t doubt we both felt it- like we were standing on the edge of a precipice, before a deep and irreversible fall. I did not know what lay at the bottom of the chasm- I did not know if I even wanted to find out- but I had a feeling that the option to turn away from it was already lost to me. When? The moment MacTaggert declared that Shaw would be laying out his plan in Cuba tomorrow? The moment I kissed him for the first time? The moment he pulled me from the water? _The moment I was born?_

The moonlight coming in the window made his white skin seem to glow in a way that mine didn’t. He was beautiful, of course, almost supernaturally so- and I also couldn’t help but think he looked like a drowned thing, already long lost. In desperation I pressed kisses down his neck and across his fine collarbones, trying to plant him firmly in reality. The satellite I had turned still faced us, out across the plains- a monolith made strange under the light of the stars. 

“I love you,” Charles said quietly. With a shuddering breath against the hollow of his throat, I realized this was the first time he had told me so out loud. The words seemed so much more solid when formed on the air. 

“I love you, too,” I replied. I pulled back to see- his eyes looked like they were made out of glass. “I love you so much.”

We said this to each other over and over again between long, hungry kisses. There was a desperation to it, but not of the lustful kind- something about our coupling had the ring of ‘last chance’, and I was determined to take it. It was like we had been spending our time on a beach together, facing away from the ocean, and only now the shadow of the incoming tsunami we had ignored was turning the sky dark. The wave was going to strike, soon. I wondered if I would be able to hold onto him through it- I wondered if he even wanted me to.

We came together, an overwhelming thing that (for one blissful instant only) blocked out all these mournful imaginings, replacing them with a brilliant, molten heat, something as perfect and all-consuming as the face of the sun. When it was over, we clung to each other, our breathing in sync and our chests pressed together. I could feel the wildness of his heartbeat against my own. Neither of us said anything- there was no thought of leaving one another, not now. My entire being was absorbed in him- his sweet scent, his soft skin, the warmth of his body against mine. Like this, it was very easy to think of nothing but affection, and to fall asleep.

…

I woke the next morning with the rising of the sun. We had not let go of each other during the night. I sat up some, my thoughts becoming clear as the sky filled with light. Today was D-Day, the Zero Hour. It would not be long before we were packed into Hank’s ridiculous jet, all of us mutants, on our way to finally complete my revenge- or to save the world, in Charles’ mind.

I looked down at him. The rosy light of the sun gave a much healthier impression of him than the moon. His cheeks were pink, his red lips slightly parted to take in soft, even breaths, his brow completely relaxed in sleep. His hair was spread out on the clean white pillow, one arm about my waist and the other curled between us, the grasp of his fingers loose and light. He did not even look like he was dreaming- he was completely at ease, secure and content to be wrapped in my arms. Like this, he was the perfect embodiment of peace.

I could give it all up for this- for _him._

The thought struck me hard, giving me pause. 

I could renounce my understandings and my ideals, couldn’t I- why had I held so tightly to them anyway? I could just let it all go, let Charles take the lead, become what he wanted me to be. Perhaps believing in his utopia was all that was really needed to make it come true. I could spend every morning waking up to a sight like this. If we had to hide ourselves from everyone, kowtow to the human governments, then so be it. I could strip myself bare for him. I could give up every struggle, every bloody impulse, just so I could kiss him behind closed doors. So I could spend every hour in the warmth of his smile, and his perfection, and his peace.

For a moment, I considered it. I really, really did.

_But..._

But I would not do any of those things.

The truth of it came down upon me like a guillotine- the great wave arriving at last. A knowledge that felt like a blade in my heart, stuck there and twisted. We had been running from this from the very beginning, hadn’t we, blind to its presence at our backs, ignoring how its ugly head reared between us at every unresolved argument, every misunderstanding, every unshakable difference of opinion.

I brushed a lock of his dark hair from his forehead, and I realized my fingers were trembling.

The fact of the matter was this:

_Peace was never an option._


	18. 0:00

The morning came upon us harsh and quick. There was no time for private discussions- everyone felt the tension in the air, as hard as rock and as sharp as lightning. Was this the bottom of the chasm, or were we just beginning to fall? The fact that I asked this to myself provided enough of an answer. Regular things had become strange around me. The light of the risen sun was too harsh, MacTaggert’s demeanour too authoritarian, lacking her regular feminine poise. Raven wore her own skin boldly, standing out in the soft browns and tans of the mansion’s interior like a goddess from another world. The laboratory, when we went to it to pick up our equipment, was destroyed, and yet no one questioned if there had been an attack or a break-in; everything Charles did was perfectly like himself, calm and optimistic and light. This was the very definition of horror: everything around me was as I knew it, only shifted ever so slightly askew, all that was familiar replaced by its own nearly- but not perfectly- identical copy. I put on the foolish-looking yellow suit, hyper-aware of the metal buckles fastened into it, attaching me to everyone’s bodies. As we walked to the hangar I couldn’t stop thinking about the tiny studs of metal that were the teeth of the zipper pressed against Charles’ throat.

-M-

Hank had turned himself into his own worst nightmare. Like Dr. Jekyll, his scientific hubris had brought forth from within himself the opposite of human enlightenment- a beast, in Alex’s words, the form of the repressed hunger and rage that he had been keeping down all this time, with his meekness and his self-dislike. Another one of our kind who would never be able to live among humans ever again- another example of how Charles’ vision for the world could never possibly work. Who would accept Hank now, but Raven? But those who were his kind? If Charles understood this, he did not tell me. As we settled ourselves into the plane, his eyes were on the edge of expressionless, and he did not speak to me in my head.

-X-

The embargo line in Cuba was a perfect picture of everything that human history had done wrong. It all seemed so incredibly silly, a bunch of ships full of men sitting around and watching each other, thinking themselves unimaginably different and yet all made from the same base things- metal and wire and blood and meat. Watching each other, and waiting to start the war that would destroy the planet, on the basis of _what-_ the crossing of a made-up line in a body of water for made-up reasons. The sight of it all made me feel cold. I did not want anything to do with a society like this one. I hadn’t the faintest clue why Charles _did._

I watched him very closely as he infiltrated the mind of one of the Russian soldiers, using another’s brain and body to blow up the Aral Sea. If he wanted to, now, he could blow them all up. He could have every man on those ships commit suicide, and not a single one of them would be able to stop him. His mind was a weapon worse than any of their reckless nuclear bombs.

But perhaps I shouldn’t be thinking about old arguments. Shaw was close- I could practically feel it, the way I felt all the metal. I could smell him on the wind. I did not have that wild, driving thirst that I used to- my bloodlust for him had settled into certainty, as heavy and solid as iron. He was going to die today- I just had to find him.

-M-

“Banshee’s got a location on Shaw,” Charles said to me, on the edge of breathless from the wind whipping about the chamber. “Are you ready for this?”

“Let’s find out,” I replied, and clambered onto the wheel. As the bay doors opened, I felt Charles reach out to me- oh, for an instant it was as glorious as always, feeling his little light flickering inside my head. He showed me where to look, and he did not withdraw when he was done the way I had expected him to.

I reached out into the water. Down, away, deep into its chill- ah, and there it was. A familiar cold hull and heavy anchor. For a moment I felt a flush of anxiety- I was taken back to a moment when I had been _in_ the water, not above it, trying to hold onto this very same ship and failing- being tugged along like a thing in orbit, outside of my own control. How was this not the same? Had anything really changed? Of course, I knew it had, and yet still-

_-remember-_

Charles steadied me. That was right; I hadn’t had Charles, that first night in the water. Charles was the one who had made the changes, and he had changed _everything._ For a moment, I felt his heart beating against the buckle on his suit- too fast, too hot, a contrast to the gentle voice in my head.

_-thepointbetweenrageandserenity-_

I lifted the submarine.

-X-

Chaos broke loose at the hand of the man who created wind storms; I lost control of the world, or perhaps the world lost control of itself, spinning so fast that even reality was put out of place. For an instant the only certainty was Charles’ hand in mine, his body pressed against me as I tried to hold us down to the only solid thing I could find- a wall, the floor, the ceiling, I didn’t know. Perhaps I heard him yell; perhaps it was only in my head.

When the world settled again, providence was on our side. The jet was crashed, but so was the submarine- it had not fallen back into the water where it might slither away, like a fish let loose from the fisherman’s hook. Now we were all trapped on this beach, with nowhere else to go; Fate had decided the setting for our battle.

I looked out the window at the ships- they were staring at us, dull-eyed and useless. Well, let them watch. A new era was arriving. After this, the world would never be the same again.

I tasted blood on my teeth- I must have bitten my cheek in the crash. I didn’t care.

-M-

Inside the submarine I turned off the nuclear reactor and stepped into what Charles called ‘the void’- how very fascinating, for I felt it too, the strength of his presence in my head dipped the moment I crossed the threshold of the lounge. This room was lined with a particular alloy of metal- when I felt for it, some part of it seemed to sing, its presence brighter and stronger than the rest of the craft that surrounded it. Interesting indeed.

For a moment I thought Charles was wrong- this was where he had said Shaw would be, but I did not see anyone- and then the door at the far end of the lounge opened, and _there he was._

He looked like he was standing in another dimension- the crash had bent the inside of the submarine out of shape, and so the floor he stood upon was at an angle to the one I did. The room he was in glowed blue, a colour of light that did not occur anywhere in nature. I had never before seen anything with a design like the helmet he wore on his head- a helmet made of that very same alloy, the one that- I began to suspect- was keeping Charles out. Yet still despite it I recognized his face- his cruel little smile, his flat, hungry eyes. I would have recognized him anywhere. Here we were again, face to face- here for the first time since I had met Charles.

I realized suddenly that I stood between the two of them, now. Charles was behind me- a god from Heaven, straining to come in through the slender opening of the door- and Shaw was before me, a god from Hell. 

“Erik,” said Shaw. “What a pleasant surprise.”

-X-

Punching him- acting on that first, childish urge- did nothing. I saw his figure ripple as he lifted himself back up to meet me, taking it like it was _easy._ I saw from the corner of my eye that I had split each knuckle on my hand striking that helmet- blood welled up between my fingers- but I did not feel any pain.

“I’m sorry for what happened in the camps,” Shaw said calmly- I could not hear an ounce of human emotion in his voice. “I truly am.”

With a tap of his finger my body was flung back against the wall- the impact was enough to knock the wind out of me, and possibly crack my ribs. It certainly did crack the form of the strange little chamber- I did not see this happen, but I felt it, Charles was upon me in an instant, all care and worry and warmth. I tasted on my tongue the panic that my disappearing into this ‘void’ had instilled in him. For a moment, it almost made me smile.

“But everything I did, I did for _you,”_ Shaw continued, in precisely the same tone as before. This was nothing to him- tossing me about like a toy hadn’t even expended an ounce of his energy. “To unlock your power. To make you _embrace_ it.”

I looked up at him, and no doubt there was an expression of raw hatred on my face, for in that instant it was all I felt. How very _smug_ he was- how utterly sociopathic. And yet he was right- he, too, had been my teacher. He was a perversion of Charles- or perhaps, the other way around.

He struck me again, and I let him- all to Charles’ enthusiasm, which came through increasingly loud in my head, though it was mixed with a wincing kind of sympathy at the ache of blunt pain in my abdomen.

_-icanseehimbuticantyettouchhismind-_

“You’ve come a long way since bending gates,” Shaw said with an empty, sharklike smile. “I’m so _proud_ of you.”

I did not let him fling me into another wall. Half-mad now with my own anger I stood, the heat of my emotions banishing any of the pain in my chest from the injuries. This ‘void’ could stop Charles, but it could not stop me- it was only metal, after all, like all of the world’s best weapons. I tore down the submarine around me, the force raw and brutal- a reversion, perhaps, to the animal strength Shaw had trained into me. I didn’t care. I aimed for his head, over and over again, forming spikes from his own home and plunging them down towards his body. They always slipped to the side at the last instant, repelled. It didn’t matter. The walls were broken away entirely, Hell taken apart and forced back into the real world- Charles was at full volume inside my head.

Shaw pushed me back, pinning me between a fallen beam and the side of the submarine- he was gentle, though, this time. He suddenly seemed taken by his own fatherly words- I wondered if he even believed them.

“Think of how much further we could go,” Shaw continued, his voice now on the edge of wistful. _“Together.”_

I growled, pushing back against the thing he was so easily pinning me with, and I felt it buckle between us. It was no use- I was not trying to move the metal, I was trying to move _him,_ and he was something else entirely.

Actually, no...not _entirely._

“I don’t want to hurt you, Erik,” Shaw was saying. “I want to _help_ you. This is our age- we are the future of the human race. You and me, son- the world could be _ours.”_

He touched me as he said this- held my neck, a gesture as fond as it was threatening, and the disgust I felt at it was so strong I could not bring myself to look at him. Despite this, though, I realized something, and the knowledge came to me in a terrible rush- _these were all things that I had said before._ And he was right, wasn’t he? He hadn’t wanted to destroy me, back in that hateful camp. It would have been so very easy for him to do that. No, he had wanted to _raise_ me, which was more than my biological father had ever done, and perhaps he had done it in the only way he knew how. Everything he had done to me- _for_ me- had made me stronger, made me who I was now. 

Only eventually, like all children, I had outgrown him.

“It’s the truth,” I said quietly. “You are my creator.”

And then I yanked the helmet from his head.

I felt Charles rush from me in an instant, pinning Shaw in place, taking away all his dreadful agency. Wasn’t there something Freudian about this? My two teachers- my father and my lover- and I had one holding the other to the ground. 

The metal beam released me, no longer torn between two forces, and I made my way slowly around to Shaw’s face. He did not move. He did not use any of his incredible power. He was completely trapped- neutered and harmless.

I took the helmet in hand. Up close, I could see that the workmanship was beautiful- the metal was cold in my palms, and bright in my mind. A little piece of art, that’s what this was. It would be a shame to let it go to waste. I looked up at Shaw- his eyes, fixed forward in place, seemed to tremble with an entirely new expression- _panic._ I had never seen such a face on him before.

_-erikplease-_

“Sorry, Charles,” I said, my voice sounding like it came from a dream. But I wouldn’t let him stop me this time, not like he had in Russia. I lifted the helmet to my head.

_-youcanbethebettermanerikPLEASE-_

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” I murmured, and slipped it on.

_...but actually, I don’t._

Silence.

I felt nothing in my head.

I took a step closer to Shaw, looking at him. Taking in that terrible, wonderful expression on his face- that expression of terror. Was he giving Charles a good fight? Surely he was, but not good enough, no. Not enough to stop my angel.

The helmet was surprisingly comfortable- for no reason I could think of, it fit me exceedingly well. The quiet it provided seemed to go deeper than merely stopping telepathic interference- my own bustling thoughts stilled as well, replaced with calm, cool focus. I could see the path out from here as clear as day. What was to happen next would be as easy as breathing.

“I want you to know that I agree with everything you said,” I told Shaw. My voice sounded very pleasant in this new quiet, this new stillness that had consumed the room. “We _are_ the future. But, unfortunately…”

_Let him feel no hope, not even for an instant. Let him know his dreams will be taken by another man. Out with the old-_

“...you killed my mother.”

I lifted from my pocket the old souvenir. _‘To remember’,_ en français- there was no better expression. I held it up for him to see. The ends of his fingers were trembling. I smiled.

“Now, I am going to count to three...and I am going to move the coin.”

-M-

Shaw’s body dropped to the sand with a satisfying _crunch._ He was a puppet now, his strings perfectly cut- empty and hollow on the inside. All the power he had taken into himself- all the power he had possessed on his own, in terms of cunning and charisma and leadership- was gone. He had been on this Earth for longer than I had been alive- indeed, I had never lived in a world without him- and just now I had ended him. The past was over. The future was just beginning.

_“Erik!”_ I heard Charles call out to me, saw him come running across the sand. He looked _wrecked,_ eyes wide and glassy and red-rimmed, cheeks as pale as death. I realized only then what had happened- what must have happened- when holding Shaw down for me, he must have felt the coin as though it had passed through his own head. I hadn’t intended that- but it was too late now. I looked away.

“Brothers and sisters,” I called out across the wreckage of the beach. “Take off your blinders. The real enemy is out _there-_ I feel their guns moving in the water. All of them _humans,_ united in their fear of the unknown. The Neanderthal is running scared, my fellow mutants!”

As I landed on the sand- flying, something I had hardly considered before, but which now seemed like the most obvious choice in the world- I admired the various expressions my speech was met with. From the former acolytes of Shaw, it was mostly disarmed curiosity, for they were now uncertain of their leadership, of the future of their cause- though they did not need to be. Dull fear was my reward from the children of the mansion- all of them wounded and exhausted, not accustomed to battle, not understanding what I was saying.

Charles was, as always, the most stunning of them all. The look of raw betrayal on his face was unmatched by anything I had ever seen. He was shivering, trying to walk steadily, his lips too red and his cheeks too white- he was probably in shock, after the pain I had just put him through with Shaw. I wanted to take him into my arms then, even if he didn’t understand- even if no one else here would understand (save Raven, who knew). Perhaps I yet would.

“Go on, Charles,” I said to him gently. “Tell me I’m _wrong.”_

He looked out across the water, two fingers at his temple, and I watched his expression shift from that beautiful horror to focus and then back to horror again. He looked over at MacTaggert (why always _her,_ why not _me)_ and she took off running towards the wreckage of the jet. That was more than enough confirmation for me. Everyone else could see it too- the turrets on the ships were turning to face us.

Could he really still believe in his utopia _now?_

There was a moment of breathless quiet- everyone waiting to see what would happen, the CIA agent shouting into her headset- but I had zero doubts.

The barrage they sent at us was so extreme I almost laughed out loud. Every single ship had fired- they would only have needed one or two to wipe out a group of humans our size, standing unprotected on a beach. But perhaps I wasn’t giving them enough credit. After all, we _weren’t_ humans.

Still, they were fools. They had made a very terrible mistake. Had MacTaggert not told them about us- about _me?_ As far as I was concerned, with a move like this they had simply sealed their own fates.

Holding up a hand, I stopped the missiles in mid-air before they were able to land, hearing Charles gasp ever so slightly beside me. The pressure of their burning engines was nothing to me- the metal of their shells was happy to feel my touch, eager to do as I bid them. I let them stand in the air for a moment, like loyal dogs doing a trick- _stay, stay, now go!_ The sight of these death-machines brought to such a perfect standstill was almost beautiful.

With a turn of my hand, the missiles shifted, bending back to face the way they had come.

With this, my intentions were suddenly clear. Oh, no, it was not enough to simply save my people. Those ships out there were hateful things- arrogant things. They would do it again if I did not take this easy vengeance now. 

“Erik,” Charles said desperately. “You- you said it yourself, we’re the better men. This is the time to prove it. Erik-”

His voice sounded so weak in the air, with nothing inside my head to support it. I could hear every pained breath that caught in his throat. I thought he must know I wasn’t listening to him- I didn’t even look over, focusing on my targets. The missiles took off- released from their leashes- and began to fly, joyfully, back to their owners.

“Erik, there are _thousands_ of men on those ships,” Charles pleaded, his voice raising in pitch and volume. Thousands of men- well, of course it would bother _him._ Charles and his simple, childish form of morality. “Good, honest, _innocent_ men! They’re just following orders!”

I finally looked at him, when he said that. His words had shocked me so much I nearly lost control of the missiles. What an incredible thing for him to say.

Had his losing the ability to see into my head made him an _imbecile?_ Had I messed something up inside of him, sending that coin through another man’s brain? He who knew _everything_ should know something as simple as this.

I had been at the mercy of men ‘just following orders’.

_Never again._

I kept the missiles on course.

With a yell, Charles did something entirely unexpected- he ran at me, and tackled me to the ground. The surprise of the moment was enough to make me lose control, but only briefly- Charles was not unfit, necessarily, but he was small and rather _clumsy._ He was not accustomed to fighting with his fists- I had almost no doubt that this was the first time he had ever had to do such a thing- and so it was easy for me to reverse our positions, pinning him to the ground. I felt him scrabbling at me, trying to get some kind of purchase, and I pushed him down.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I growled. “Don’t _make_ me.”

Some of his students ran at me- to help _him,_ I didn’t doubt- and I shoved them away by the buckles on their uniforms (a design flaw, those had been). I looked back across the water- in the rush some of the missiles had fallen out of my grasp and detonated in the air, but I still had a sizable arsenal, and I pushed these remainders forward with more vigour. I heard Charles shout again, a pathetically desperate sound, and his fingers pawed at the edge of the helmet- trying to take it off, trying to give himself the advantage, put the world back in a shape where he was the one with all the power, where he could control anything he wanted. But I would not let him- no, _I_ was the one with the power, the way we were now.

I struck him hard across the face with a closed fist, snapping his neck to the side. The flash of guilt I felt at this was brief; there was nothing else I could do, and I _had_ warned him. I ignored the fragile, pained noise he made, and stood, concentrating my mind back on the missiles. Hitting him had cost me a few more, now the pickings were becoming slim.

Something pinged against the side of my helmet- a bullet- someone was _shooting_ at me? I looked, and it was _her_ again, that damned woman, actually _firing_ her little gun at me- costing me focus with each one I deflected. She was an idiot! Did she really think she could hurt me with such a device? Humans really were all the same! They were incapable of learning even the simplest things! She knew what I was- her bullets _belonged_ to me, and her gun belonged to me, and the silver on her uniform and the body of the jet and every single one of those missiles, and every single one of those ships, all of them were MINE. I was the king of their foolish weaponry, and they could not _stop_ me, NONE OF THEM COULD! I could turn away all her desperate efforts with less than half a thought-

-

-I felt one of her bullets land in flesh, instead of sand, and from behind me I heard a body hit the ground.

…

Whatever happened to the missiles after that- if they reached their targets or not- I did not know. Every thought of them was wiped from my mind, seeing Charles fall with a bullet in him.

I was beside him before I had even realized my body had moved, searching, desperate- whether this was logical or not I _had_ to get it out of him, it didn’t _belong_ there. The wound was in his lower back- blood spilled from the tear in the suit, flooding into the sand below and over my hands at a surprising speed. No- not surprising. I knew what bullets could do to a body. I knew, and now it had happened to _him…_

I pulled the offending thing out- so tiny, not even as wide as a fingernail- and looked at it, trembling. It was slick and red, just like the coin. There was far too much blood.

“I’m sorry,” I said, barely aware of it. My fingers were wet- I couldn’t stop it- I didn’t know _how._ There was not enough iron in his blood for me to push it back inside. I turned him over instead, bringing his head into my lap- I didn’t know what to do. The other mutants approached again and I stopped them with a snarl. _No one_ could come near him now- I had to _protect_ him- he was hurt and vulnerable and I had never been any good at helping people, I had only ever been good at _revenge_.

My eyes snapped up at this thought, finding the woman- Moira MacTaggert. She was standing there like a criminal in a police spotlight- the gun was still warm in her hands. 

_Bitch._

“You did this,” I hissed, and I saw more red than was on my hand when I lifted it. She was wearing dog tags. Metal, every single link. I closed them tight around her throat just as I had the bedstand in that Soviet official’s house- all these fucking women, hurting what belonged to me, hurting him _too much,_ I was going to squeeze until the blood vessels in her eyes popped, until she _drowned,_ it was what she fucking _DESERVED-_

_“No,”_ Charles gasped from beneath me. “Please! She didn’t do this, Erik… _you_ did.”

I released the woman in the shock of these frail words, looking back down at the person who really mattered- the person who lay there, now broken, in my arms. 

And he had just said it- _I had broken him._

Funny, how easy it had been- like a child carelessly throwing away a toy.

Charles’ eyes flickered over my face, too wide, too pained (if there was any face that could make me ache with guilt, it was this one). I knew he was trying to touch me, trying to reach inside- to fill me with his terrible, lovely magic the way he always had. There was nothing he could get from me now, and wasn’t that an incredible thought? I was as silent to him as the rest of the world had always been to me. How desperate he looked.

_Use your words, baby, like everyone else._

“Us turning on each other, it’s what _they_ want,” I murmured to him when he said nothing, stroking his cheek- on accident, his own drying blood left a smear there, over the bruise beginning to form where I had struck him. “I want you by my side. I love you, Charles.”

These last words were little more than a whisper- my voice stolen from me by the pained sounds slipping from Charles’ lips. The sand under my knees was damp. I did not want to see why. I could not bring myself to look. I could barely face looking into his _eyes_ as he was now- I hadn’t the faintest idea what he thought of me just then, and that was perhaps the most terrible thing in the world.

“Think of it,” I implored when I found words again. “All of us together- protecting each other- _we want the same thing.”_

Charles’ expression slowly changed. The light in that beautiful, open blue slowly shut itself off- a tear was released from the corner of his eye, and I realized that he had never looked more like a work of art. This was a picture with more than enough power to break my heart.

Seeing that shift in his eyes, my grip on him tightened, for I knew what he was going to say before he said it and it was a truth I was afraid I couldn’t bear.

“No, Erik,” he said softly. “We do not.”

There was silence for a moment- a moment in which I heard nothing, and touched nothing, and did not even see the world before my eyes. A moment in which I felt a pain greater than anything I had experienced in years. It was harder even than I had anticipated- a rending of my being in two, worse than any gun or knife wound, worse than any of the torture I had ever been put through. A terrible, overwhelming loss.

This was it, then. We had reached the bottom of the chasm. There was no further to fall.

As the world came back into being around me, I realized that I was still alive- impossibly, my shattered heart was still beating. It had not killed me, then- which meant the only way forward was _up._

I laid his head down gently on the sand, smoothing the suit on his chest as though that could make up for anything. I would have kissed his forehead, but the helmet got in the way, so instead I simply squeezed his hands, folding them on his chest like he was dead.

I beckoned to MacTaggert, summoning her over to him, and stood.

“This society won’t accept us,” I said to the others. My voice sounded clear and strong- but also like it was coming from very far away. I hardly felt aware of my own body any more. I was watching these next steps forward from afar, like a spectator in a theatre. To take any pleasure in this final act would be cruel.

After all, in the end the play had been a tragedy.

“So we form our own.” I held out a hand to my compatriots- my bloodstained, terribly steady hand. “No more hiding. _Who’s with me?”_

I scanned their faces. I thought I already knew. Sure enough, all three of Shaw’s former associates approached me- but they had no choice, it was my leadership or imprisonment, facing the wild world on their own. Of the others- the students, the ones I had found, my friends- only one stepped out of line.

Raven-

-no. _Mystique._

I wondered if I deserved to be surprised.

She went first to Charles, and said her goodbye. I stepped aside to allow it; I could not look at him again, to do so now would be masochism and nothing else. When she was done she took my hand, her scaled fingers entwining with my bloody ones, and she called out into the air:

“And Beast- never forget! _Mutant and proud!”_

I looked over at the teleporter, Azazel- he met my gaze with a small nod, and then the world disappeared, replaced by a wave of brilliant heat and brimstone-scented smoke and a darkness that flickered deep before my eyes.


	19. 3:33/I Could, But I Won’t

I landed lightly on the balcony outside of Charles’ bedroom. I was sure I made no noise; my control over this suit I was wearing, embedded with metal to allow me to fly, was impeccable. The tall window-doors were not locked (I did not even think they had a lock) though the curtains within were drawn. I opened the door and slipped through.

The room was not entirely dark. A dim light on his night table had been kept on, just bright enough to ward away the worst of the shadows. Charles was sleeping, his hands loosely clenched around the comforter where it lay across his chest, as though he had fallen asleep afraid it would be torn from him.

Beside the bed there rested an object that, at the sight of which, my stomach lurched- the confirmation of my worst suspicions. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but swallow it I did, and it disappeared into the rest of my cold, hardened insides.

(The object was, of course, a wheelchair.)

I walked over to the other side of the bed, my feet noiseless on the carpet, and looked at him. His hair had grown some; not much. He was clean-shaven, but his brow was furrowed even as he slept. His face was paler than I ever remembered, the reds and pinks drawn away somewhere, his lips dry and lined with white. He seemed to have lost weight, almost too much weight; the bones in his wrists stood out to me like they never had before, and there were dark circles under his eyes that went unpleasantly deep. In short, he looked sick.

I reached out with one hand; I was not wearing any gloves. For a moment I hesitated- should I?- and then gave in, gently stroking his cold, wan cheek, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

Charles’ eyes flickered open.

He looked at the ceiling first, and then slowly over at me, his eyes widening slightly. Despite this, he did not seem afraid- he did not even really seem startled, only curious, as though I was a rare bird that had landed on his windowsill.

“Erik,” he said lightly. “Am I dreaming?”

“Yes,” I replied, and he seemed comforted, turning his head into my touch and closing his eyes.

“I’m always dreaming about you,” Charles murmured, and his tone was as mild and conversational as I remembered- he sounded like we had just spoken yesterday, and the day before that, like Cuba hadn’t happened and like I hadn’t been completely gone from him for the last three months. I ran my thumb over his lower lip. I couldn’t kiss him with the helmet on (the helmet I had barely taken off at all during this time, for fear he would find me with Cerebro while I slept). It was reckless, I knew, but in that instant the urge to remove it was overwhelming- just so I could kiss him back to sleep, nothing more. He looked so terribly fragile then, so _weak,_ and he didn’t even think I was _real-_ I truly had broken him on that beach. I had been paranoid all this time for nothing, Charles couldn’t do anything to me, not anymore.

(This thought hurt something in my heart more than I would have liked to admit.)

I placed my hands on either side of the helmet and lifted it off, tossing it carelessly onto the pillow beside me.

Immediately, Charles' eyes snapped open again, and in them there was a blue fury as clear and brilliant as the sun. I barely had time to register my mistake; my mind was seized by a force so cold it _burned._

_**-MAGNETO-** _

It felt like iron railway spikes had been slammed into my skull- the pain was overwhelming, and so was the shock. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, every muscle in my body was clenched and locked into a complete, vibrating stillness. I had become a captured thing, a mouse in the jaws of a fox, feeling an inescapable grip bear down. I saw everything that had occured in the last three months in vivid technicolor, passing before my eyes so quickly I was sure I would be sick. I heard and smelled and _felt_ everything that had happened to me repeated back, practically all at once, a terrible roar of human voices and industrial sounds, an overpowering stench of food and blood and metal, a million graceless touches all striking my body in an instant. I could only assume this was what the Japanese civilians had felt when the terrible American bombs had gone off in their cities- this was greater than death, a blinding rapture, and surely the only way it could end was with my flesh and bones obliterated into ash.

I came back to myself disoriented, and I staggered away from the bed, nearly vomiting on the floor. My eyes had blurred, my skin had broken out in a freezing sweat, and I could hear my heartbeat deafeningly loud in my ears. When I raised a hand to my mouth I realized my nose was bleeding. I looked back at him- Charles was sitting up in bed now, his back perfectly straight and his eyes as hard as stone. Any remnant of that gentle, dreaming thing had been vanquished completely, replaced by fierce intelligence and incredible awareness and an unquestionable _authority._ Even from across the room, his eyes seemed to glow.

_Professor X._

“There you go, Erik,” he said coldly. “That’s what you’ve always wanted from me.”

My eyes flickered from him to the helmet, still sitting on the bed and damnably far away- he laughed at me. It was a bitter sounding laugh.

“You’re even more arrogant than before,” Charles continued, turning his head to one side like a cat. “But at least you’re taking care of Raven. I’m grateful for that.”

I tried to wipe the blood off my face with the back of my hand, but likely I only smeared it around more. My breathing was slowly coming under control, but still my body was shaking, I felt like I had run a hundred kilometres in under a minute. Every joint and muscle in my body ached, like they had been rubbed raw.

“I probably deserved that,” I said, trying for cavalier and coming off as stupefied. I took a step towards the bed, and Charles only raised his eyebrows to show he agreed.

“I miss our talks,” I continued, taking another step. What I had intended to say from the start. “Our games, our...everything. I miss you, Charles.”

_I love you, Charles. I still love you so, so much._

“Come with me,” I said, knowing he had heard the rest. “You still can.”

Charles’ expression softened slightly, but not enough- still, his gaze was like a magnifying glass, exposing me and burning me from the inside out. No, it wasn’t enough. He hadn’t changed his mind. No doubt he knew already that I hadn’t changed mine.

“No.” 

Charles sighed slightly as he said this, a faint and melancholy sound. In two more steps I was beside the bed again, and I placed one hand on the top of the helmet, looking at him in query.

“I could stop you now, Erik,” Charles said softly. “I could…but I won’t.”

…

I put the helmet back on.

The moment I did Charles looked away from me, the light in his eyes going out. I knew that as far as he was concerned, I was barely even there anymore. I saw him look down at his lap, his fingers twisting the comforter into knots, and take a deep, shuddering breath. His jaw was tight with the effort of maintaining composure.

“When we meet again, we may be enemies,” I said. The security of the metal around my head seemed to bring some of my strength back.

“That’s up to you,” Charles replied, but still, he did not look at me. I waited a moment to see if he would- wanting to say something more, wanting _him_ to say something more, even if it was just to curse me. All he did was shuffle back down onto the pillows, pulling the comforter up to his chin. His eyes closed.

I turned away. Now it was my jaw that was tight- with anger, with the effort not to cry. I slunk back out the way I had come, feeling in every way some dirty, unsavoury thing, a mutt kicked out with its tail between its legs. I closed his curtain and window behind me, leaving no trace of having been there save in his memory- like I really had been a dream.

The night air was cool on my skin as I flew, and it soothed my aching body. Gradually, the fever he had given me subsided. Before long, his castle wouldn’t even be visible should I have chosen to look back- and I did not look back.

I had spent my whole life chasing the past. I was done with it. From now on, I would be something greater than myself, and I would look only to the future.

‘Magneto’, he had called me- I had heard him say it in my head.

Very well, then.

I would be Magneto.

~

_These violent delights have violent ends_

_and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which:_

_as they kiss, consume._

_The sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness,_

_and in the taste confounds the appetite._

_Therefore love moderately;_

_long love doth so._


End file.
